


Harry Potter and the Boy Who Had No Choice

by number1shipbuilder



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:48:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 36
Words: 111,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27906223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/number1shipbuilder/pseuds/number1shipbuilder
Summary: When Harry Potter and his friends return to complete their seventh year at Hogwarts after the Second Wizarding War, they are not sure what to expect. But after discovering his godfather's old diary and spending what he considers to be far too much time with his arch-nemesis, Draco Malfoy, Harry starts to realize that he's in for a surprising year full of revelations.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hannah Abbott/Neville Longbottom, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, Luna Lovegood/Ginny Weasley, Seamus Finnigan/Dean Thomas, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Comments: 35
Kudos: 225





	1. Summer at the Burrow

Chapter One

A cold, high pitched laugh filled the room. Flashes of green flew by and the sound of shouts echoed off the walls. The usual house tables that lined the Great Hall were now broken and toppled over. An endless chasm of darkness took over the ceiling where students could usually see the starry night sky. Someone called out.   
“Please,” the voice rasped. “Help me.”  
He turned, coming face to face with a handsome, freckled face that could only belong to Fred Weasley. His red hair looked even redder matted with blood. As soon as he finished speaking, a blast of green light passed, hitting Fred squarely in the chest. His eyes went blank and his face became still as he plummeted to the ground.   
“No!”   
Two figures rushed by, their attention fixed on the other end of the room. One was wearing shabby, patched robes and tawny hair that had begun to gray at the roots, and the other had unmistakable bright pink hair.   
“Don’t!”  
Remus and Tonks toppled over as more bursts of vivid green raced past. They hit the floor with a resounding thud, and a scream pierced through the chaos, bringing silence to the hall….  
“Harry?”   
Harry awoke with a start, moving so suddenly that he accidentally turned and fell out of his bed onto a creaky wooden floor. He let out an “oof” and pressed his hand to his forehead.   
“Is it your scar?” Hermione peered at the raven-haired boy with alarm. She quickly glanced to the lightning shaped scar on his forehead as if she could see pain radiating off of him. “Is it hurting again? Did you…. did you see him?”  
“What? No!” Harry exclaimed, pushing himself into a sitting position behind the crouched Hermione. He kept his hand pressed against his skull. “I just hit my head against the floor when I fell out of bed. Thanks for that, by the way,” he added sarcastically.   
“Sorry, it’s just, you were screaming quite a bit.” The crazed panic behind Hermione’s eyes faded a bit, but she still looked concerned. She settled down so she was sitting next to him, their backs against the bed.  
“Nightmares,” he muttered, keeping his eyes on the ground. Even after everything, Harry hated to admit to Hermione that he was having night terrors. He couldn’t bear to remind his friends of the devastating losses they had suffered at the Battle of Hogwarts. If Fred’s face haunted Harry’s dreams, he couldn’t possibly imagine the horrors that Ron was going through.   
Not to mention the fact that he didn’t want to give either of his best friends yet another reason to coddle him. He appreciated how gentle they were being with him, but he was tired of being treated like he was made of glass and about to shatter.   
“About what?” she said. Like she had to ask.   
“Dementors,” Harry lied vaguely. It was an awful lie, and Harry knew it, and from the way Hermione squinted at him, he could tell she knew it too. But luckily, she seemed to accept his answer for the time being and didn’t press any further.   
“Alright,” Hermione nodded, standing up. “Anyway, breakfast is ready downstairs.” She offered her hand to Harry. He took it and stood alongside her.   
“Where’s Ron?” Harry’s eyes flitted around the room, searching for any sign of the tuffs of red hair and sprinkle of freckles that branded the Weasley family.   
“In the kitchen.”  
Harry grabbed his glasses off the bedside table and followed Hermione downstairs. He sat down at the table next to Ron and across from Charlie, whose red hair was now falling into his face. Normally, Mrs. Wealsey would have never allowed Charlie’s hair to get so long, but given everything that had happened, she had hardly noticed.   
Charlie originally came home for Fred’s funeral, but he had stuck around that entire summer. Even though he never said it, Harry suspected that Mrs. Weasley wanted someone around to help keep an eye on George once all the other Weasley siblings had gone off to Hogwarts.   
“Hey Charlie,” Harry said. Charlie glanced up from that morning’s Daily Prophet, and smiled at Harry.   
“Morning Harry.” He returned his attention to the paper.  
The headline read The Boy Who Lived Returns to Hogwarts. Harry cocked his head slightly so he could read the article.   
Harry Potter, aged 18 years old, is returning to Hogwarts to finish his seventh year. Potter was supposed to complete his final year of schooling last year, but it’s common knowledge that he opted out of his studies to instead pursue his mission to defeat Voldemort, formerly known as He Who Must Not Be Named, alongside his sidekicks and companions, Hermione Ginger and Ronald Weasley.   
Although the Ministry has decided that this seventh year at Hogwarts is optional for all-of-age wizards and witches, Potter, along with most of his classmates, has decided to return. Of course, for all underage wizards, continuation of Hogwarts education is mandatory.  
More on page 11….

Harry rolled his eyes. It was nice that the Daily Prophet was no longer calling Harry a crazed lunatic, but the constant attention was exhausting. Everytime he left the house, he was surrounded by reporters and photographers eager to report on Harry’s latest adventures, even if those adventures merely consisted of going shopping or visiting Andromeda and Teddy.   
Mrs. Weasley came bustling into the room, carrying several plates teeming with various breakfast foods. She set the platters down on the table and smiled at Harry.   
“Good morning dear.” She glanced around the table. “Where is everybody? Hermione! Arthur! Ginny! George! Fr-” She stopped herself and her face went blank. Her eyes nervously flitted around the room, hoping no one heard what she was about to say. No one but Harry seemed to notice, so Harry kept his head down and pretended that he hadn’t heard Mrs. Weasley start to call out for her dead son. When he looked up from his empty plate, her eyes were shiny.   
“I’m just going to go clean up in the kitchen a bit. You all dig in,” she said hurriedly, her voice thick with oncoming tears.   
Charlie and Harry silently watched as she left the room. Gradually, Hermione, Mr. Weasley, and Ginny ambled in and took their seats at the table.   
Ginny sat next to Harry and shot him a smile. He returned it, but quickly looked away from her and started piling his plate with food. All throughout last year, Ginny was one of the only things on Harry’s mind. She was a huge part of the reason why he kept going. And after the war, he assumed that everything would go back to normal, or as normal as it could be, and Ginny and him would be together again. But so far, that hadn’t happened yet.   
Not for lack of trying on Ginny’s part; every chance she had, she not-so-subtly hinted that she wanted their relationship to start again, but Harry just wasn’t ready. And if he was being honest with himself, he wasn’t sure he ever would be.   
After a few minutes, Mrs. Weasley sat down at the table, her eyes considerably drier.   
“This is a load of rubbish!” Ron said from behind his newspaper. He picked it up once Charlie had finished and was now examining the front page. “Sidekicks? Really?”  
Hermione snatched the paper out of his hands.   
“At least they spelled your name correctly,” Hermione pointed out. “Apparently I’m Hermione Ginger.”  
Ginny snorted and tried to steal a glance at the paper, having to lean across Harry to do so. George wandered into the room as Hermione turned to page eleven and started to read aloud.   
“The Boy Who Lived has remained relatively reclusive this summer, only being sighted outside of the Weasley residence on occasion to go to the local market or visit with friends.  
“However, given Potter’s return to Hogwarts, we suspect that he will have to make a trip to Diagon Alley to fetch some school supplies.” Hermione set down the paper.  
“That makes it sound like they’re going to ambush you as soon as you set foot outside the house!” Ron said, laughing.   
“Probably will,” A voice piped up from the end of the table. Everyone turned to see George. It was as if the now lone Weasley twin had aged five years over the course of two months. He was smiling, but his eyes looked tired, sad. Harry noticed he had lost weight, so his clothes now hung off of him limply. “They really had a field day when you went into town with mum.”  
“If you think about it, it’s actually sort of impressive how they managed to write a four page article about it.” Charlie chuckled.   
They leisurely finished breakfast, and Harry went back upstairs after he helped Mrs. Weasley clean up. Hermione and Ron followed him, and Harry and Ron spent the remainder of the morning playing Wizard’s Chess while Hermione read.   
“What are you reading anyways?” Ron asked while they were walking downstairs for lunch. “It’s not like we have any homework.”  
“I’m reviewing,” she said. “We’ve been away from school for a whole year, and I don’t want to fall behind. If you knew what’s good for you, you’d do the same.” She looked pointedly at Harry and Ron.   
“Well we don’t know what’s good for us,” Ron joked. “That’s why we’ve got you.” He grabbed Hermione’s hand and squeezed it. She blushed and Harry looked away, pretending like he hadn’t noticed.   
Harry had spent a lot of that summer pretending not to notice things. Like the way Ron and Hermione sometimes casually held hands, or the fact that they snuck out after dinner almost every night. Of course, they always invited Harry along, but he knew that they would really rather spend that time alone, so he always refused.   
It wasn’t that he was surprised or that he didn’t approve of his two friends being a couple. He always knew this day would come, and Hermione and Ron were good for each other. But it was still weird to suddenly feel so left out.  
“Oh good, you’re down!” Mrs. Weasley bustled over to the three friends when they reached the kitchen. “Your Hogwarts letters have arrived!”   
Sure enough, three tawny owls were sitting on the table carrying three wax sealed envelopes. Harry, Ron, and Herminone hurried over to their owls and untied their letters. Harry felt the familiar sting of grief as he thought of Hedwig, but pushed the thought out of his mind and ripped open the envelope.   
He skimmed over the usual introduction letter and turned his attention over to the supplies list.   
Seventh Year Students will need:  
The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 7 by Miranda Goshawk  
Advanced Dark Art Defense by Gillian Marshwood  
Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered: Advanced Potions by Gregory Elder  
Advanced Transfiguration by Emeric Switch  
The Deadly and Divine: A Study in Herbology by Deila Hilda  
Dress Robes (for special occasions)  
“Merlin, is there going to be another Triwizard Tournament?” Ron whined.   
“What do you mean?” Hermione asked.   
“Dress robes are on the list again. I hope mum can get me some decent ones this time.”   
“They wouldn’t have another Tournament.” Hermione paused. “Would they?”  
“Doubt it,” Harry said darkly. “Just look at how well it turned out the last time.”  
The three of them looked over their lists for a few more minutes before Hermione broke the silence.   
“I’m Head Girl,” Hermione breathed. She looked up from her letter and Harry saw tears lining her eyes.   
“That’s amazing Hermione!” Harry smiled at her. If anyone deserved to be Head Girl, it was certainly Hermione.   
“Like anybody’s surprised,” Ron joked, and Hermione thwacked him with her letter.  
“You could at least congratulate me!”  
“I’m proud of you ‘Mione, really.” Ron quickly assured her. “But all I’m saying is, we all sort of expected this.” Hermione shot him a death glare. “I mean, you are the most talented witch of our generation,” he added hastily.   
Hermione smiled and gave Ron a hug. After the initial excitement of Hermione’s announcement wore off, the three friends went back to examining their school lists.   
“I suppose it’s the Daily Prophet’s lucky day.” She turned to Harry. “Looks like you’re going to have to pay a visit to Diagon Alley after all.”  
The next day, Harry, Hermione, and the Weasley family set off early in the morning for Diagon Alley. They spent most of that morning finding all their school books and avoiding various reporters. By the time noon rolled around, Harry was starving and ready to sit down. Unfortunately, he still had to buy his dress robes, as his old ones from fourth year were far too small for him now.   
He stepped into Madam Malkin’s and was immediately greeted by the stares of several onlookers in the shop. He quickly made his way past them and searched for the dress robes section of the store.   
“Dress robes?” Someone asked Harry, as if reading his mind. He turned around to see Madam Malkin beaming at him.   
“Yeah,” Harry said.   
“Well, come this way and we’ll get you all fitted.” She ushered him to the back of the shop, where he remembered being fitted for his first set of dress robes seven years ago. “Been getting Hogwarts kids asking for dress robes all day. Is there another Tournament this year?”  
Harry shrugged. He stepped up and Madam Malkin began to measure him. He was thankful that she still treated him the same as she always had; it was nice to not be gawked at. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a flash of white blond hair and he gritted his teeth.   
Draco Malfoy was looking through rows of sleek, black robes and receiving almost as many stares as Harry. He kept his head down and his focus on the clothes as if he didn’t notice all the attention he was getting.   
Harry expected his blood to boil at the sight of Malfoy, but he was surprised to find that he only felt a race of shock looking at his former nemesis. The blonde boy seemed to find what he was looking for. He carried a garment of shiny, silver and gold fabric over to the front of the store and placed it down in front of the cashier, who didn’t see Malfoy approach, as her head was buried in a magazine.   
Harry didn’t get to see the cashier’s reaction to Malfoy though, because Madam Malkin had finished measuring him. She gestured for him to follow her, and he did. She led him to the front of the shop.   
“I think this one will do nicely.” Madam Malkin pulled a long, green pair of dress robes out of a drawer and showed it off to Harry. Even though Harry knew very little of fashion, he had to admit that these robes were something.   
“It’s quite nice, really, but,” Harry paused. “I’m in Gryffindor, so wouldn’t something red or gold be better?”  
Madam Malkin smiled.  
“I thought you might say that. Students do love to stay true to their house colors.” She shifted the garment in the light, and Harry watched as the fabric shimmered and changed from green to red. “It’s color shifting fabric. The green goes with your eyes and the red fits your house.”  
Harry was astonished. He’d never been so impressed by an article of clothing before.   
Before Harry could be too entranced with his robes however, Madam Malkin began yelling across the shop.   
“Oi! What do you think you’re doing here?” she bellowed. Harry turned to see where she was looking and saw the back of a familiar blonde head. “You’re not welcome here.”  
Malfoy turned around to face Madam Malkin, a snarl on his face. He opened his mouth to retort but something stopped him and his expression softened.   
“I was just leaving,” he managed to say through gritted teeth. The door chimes jingled as he pushed open the front entrance and swiftly left the shop.   
“Sorry about that,” she muttered, folding Harry’s new dress robes and placing them inside a gift bag.   
Harry nodded. He had briefly forgotten Malfoy’s outburst in Madam Malkin’s two years ago. It seemed Madam Malkin had not.   
“Thank you.” Harry handed the store owner a few Galleons and took the bag.   
He headed out onto the street, stomach growling and eager to meet his friends at Florian's for ice cream. As he walked, he passed Magical Menagerie and couldn’t help looking in the window. His eyes flitted to the left of the shop, where he felt his heart plummet as he spotted the owls. He glanced to the other side of the room, where a lime green python slept below a large heat lamp. Harry’s curiosity peaked and he stepped inside the warmly lit shop.   
It wasn’t that Harry was looking to buy a pet snake, in fact, ever since seeing Nagini, he’d never been able to look at a snake the same way, but he did wonder if he could still speak Parseltongue. After all, the only reason he had the ability in the first place was because Voldemort accidentally transferred some of his own powers to Harry, so it would make sense that Harry’s ability to talk to snakes would die with Voldemort. Still, he had to test it.   
“Hello,” he said to the snake. The words sounded normal to him, but then again, Harry did have a habit of slipping into Parseltongue without realizing. He repeated himself, focusing on the snake. “Hello.”  
The snake made no movement in its cage; it had barely even registered that Harry was there.   
“I guess not.” Harry shrugged. He wasn’t disappointed; being a parseltongue was of little use to him now.  
He faced away from the snake cage and started towards the front door, but a flash of white and tan caught his eye. Harry whirled around and saw a small, spotted puppy.  
The dog immediately noticed Harry and gave a tiny yip of recognition. It started to scratch at the fence of its pen. Harry smiled and made his way over to the little dog. He bent down over the enclosement and caught sight of a name tag reading Holly.   
“Cute ain’t she?” An older wizard seemed to appear out of thin air. He stood next to Harry and gave the puppy a pat on the head.   
“Er- yeah,” Harry stammered, taken aback by the wizard’s sudden appearance. “What does she… you know, do?” The man gave Harry a quizzical look. “I mean, is she magical?” Harry suddenly felt stupid asking.   
“This one? Oh no,” The man laughed and scooped the pup into his arms. “She’s just a dog. Found her and her mum outside in the trash bin.” He plopped the dog into Harry’s arms, and Harry nearly dropped her, as he hadn’t expected to be handed a puppy. The man leaned over the cage and picked up an empty food dish and promptly turned and started walking away. Harry followed him to the back of the shop. “Only one of the litter who survived, poor thing. The mum wandered off as soon as I took ‘em in, but she left this little one behind.”  
Holly snuggled up against Harry’s chest and he smiled.   
“She seems to like you.” The wizard pointed at her. “Then again, she likes almost everyone.”  
“Is she for sale?” Harry found himself asking. He wasn’t looking for a pet when he came in, but the cuddly puppy in his arms was starting to grow on him.   
“Well yeah,” The man paused. “Though I don’t suppose most wizards would want a non magical dog. She’s been here a few weeks and no one’s shown any interest.”  
“I’d like to buy her.” Harry surprised himself. He reached into his pocket, which was difficult given that he had to balance a now-sleeping puppy with his other hand, and pulled out a few coins. “How much?”  
“Oh, well, er- I suppose a Galleon will do it. Though you’ll also need some food, a bed, toys...” Harry handed the man two golden coins and walked around the shop to pick up some supplies. “Very well. Let me get you a leash.”  
The older wizard handed Harry a yellow and white striped leash and Harry thanked him before heading out of the shop with his new pet trotting along at his ankles.   
Ron and Hermione didn’t even notice Holly at first since she was so low to the ground.   
“Blimey Harry, it’s tiny! What does he do?” Ron exclaimed, picking up the spotted puppy.   
“She. And nothing.” Harry beamed. “She’s just a dog.”  
“She is pretty cute, isn’t she?” Hermione cooed as she leaned over. Harry’s friends had ordered him a large sundae, and he dug in. He’d forgotten how hungry he was with all the excitement of his new dog.   
“Anywhere else we need to go after this?” Harry asked. He loved Diagon Alley, but he was starting to get tired after being on his feet all day.   
“We were going to stop by Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes,” Hermione said. “George is showing Charlie the ropes.”  
“Wait, Charlie?” Harry asked.   
“Yeah,” Ron interjected, still petting Holly. “George wants to get back to work, but mum reckons that he shouldn’t be running the shop alone yet, so Charlie’s helping him out for the time being.”   
“What about Romania?”  
“Romania’s not going away anytime soon.” Ron shrugged and shoved a spoonful of his ice cream sundae into his mouth.   
Harry, Ron and Hermione decided against visiting George’s shop; they didn’t want to get in the way. So the three of them headed back to the Burrow, where Hermione went upstairs to pack. Ron and Harry played a few rounds of Exploding Snaps before the rest of the Weasley family arrived at home. They ate dinner and Harry turned outside for some fresh air.   
He gazed up at the stars, thinking. Everything had changed, yet so much was still the same. Voldemort was gone, people had died, a war had been fought, but he was still shopping for school books in Diagon Alley and stressing about his N.E.W.Ts.   
Before long, someone else was beside Harry, staring up at the night sky with him.   
“Hello,” Ginny said quietly. She kept looking up at the sky.   
“Hello,” Harry replied. The sound of crickets filled the air.   
“Beautiful night.” Ginny glanced at Harry and he hummed in agreement. Silence befell them once again. Harry looked at Ginny.   
She was as gorgeous as ever. Her vivid red hair shone a deep maroon in the moonlight, and freckles dotted her unblemished skin like the stars that speckled the night sky. Her eyes, which glowed like pools of honey in the sunlight, were now dark rings of mahogany.   
She returned his gaze, her eyes taking in Harry’s features. She opened her mouth, but before she could utter a single word, Harry spoke.   
“Well, goodnight.” He made his way back into the house and up to the second floor, taking the stairs two at a time. It wasn’t that Harry didn’t enjoy Ginny’s company, he did. No matter what happened between them, he knew he could always count on Ginny to be his friend, but everytime they were alone together now, it felt like she expected something of him. Something that he couldn’t give her.


	2. A Warm, Hogwarts Welcome

Chapter Two

Harry slept uneasily, flashes of the war frequenting his mind and disturbing his rest. The next day was a blur of packing and animated conversations about returning to Hogwarts. Harry didn’t realize just how much he missed Hogwarts until his letter arrived.   
Finally, the following morning, the time came for Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny to head off. Since they were all of age, they decided to Apparate to King’s Cross on their own, with much protest from Mrs. Weasley.   
Harry felt himself relax when he stepped onto the Hogwarts express. Ginny left to find her friends and Hermione headed off to the Prefect’s cabin, leaving Ron and Harry to find an empty carriage. They found Neville and Luna in the back of the train and joined them.   
“So how was your summer?” Harry asked the pair once he had settled into a seat.   
“Oh, it was wonderful,” Luna said with a dreamy smile. “Dad and I went to Canada in search of Crumple Horned-Snorkacks.”  
“Did you find any?” Ron asked, trying to keep the smirk off his face. No one but Luna and her dad believed that the Crumple Horned-Snorkack even existed.   
“No,” she said, not looking at all upset about this.   
“What about you, Neville?”   
“Oh, I just stayed home. Every Time I tried to leave the house, I was surrounded by photographers and interviewers,” he told them, wide eyed. “It was a nightmare.”  
“Tell me about it.” Harry smiled. Even though Neville wasn’t quite as much of a media sensation as The-Boy-Who-Lived, Harry still saw quite a few articles gushing over Neville and his slaughter of Nagini.   
“I don’t know how you handle it Harry. I don’t think I could ever get used to that kind of attention.” The train lurched forwards as it started to move. “Although, it wasn’t all bad. I convinced my Gran to let me build a miniature greenhouse in the backyard.”   
How Neville found Herbology so interesting was a complete mystery to Harry, but he was glad that his friend was happy. They continued talking, with Luna occasionally looking up from her edition of The Quibbler to make an odd remark, until the trolley came along and they bought enough sweets to choke a horse. Hermione came in some minutes later, and Neville and Luna were happy to hear about her appointment as Head Girl.   
Darkness fell over the train as day turned to night, and soon the five students were conversing about the Hogwarts professors.   
“So who’s teaching Transfiguration then?” Neville asked.   
“I’m not sure.” Hermione wrinkled her brow. “I don’t know if there’s any sort of official rules that forbid Headmasters from teaching classes.”  
“I just hope we have a good Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher,” Ron said gloomily.   
The Hogwarts students had never had the same DADA professor two years in a row. This year would be no exception.   
The rest of the train ride passed in a blur of chocolate frogs and laughter. They changed into their school robes and stepped out of the Hogwarts express. All the laughter stopped as soon as the students caught sight of the carriages.   
Harry glanced around, wondering what could possibly be rendering his classmates dumbstruck before he remembered the Thestrals: the black winged horses one could only see after one had witnessed death. He had been seeing them since fifth year, after the murder of Cedric Diggory, but he realized that after the battle of Hogwarts, most of his friends would be able to see them for the first time.   
However, one of his peers didn’t seem to give the carnivorous beasts a second thought. Malfoy strode over to the carriages, glanced at the Thestrals, and took a seat, not even noticing the frightened stares around him. Blaise Zabini clambered in after him, equally calm, although Harry wondered if Zabini could even see the creatures. He didn’t think that the handsome black boy had stayed for the battle.   
Slowly, the Hogwarts students approached the carriages and uneasily took their seats. Ron’s face was as white as a sheet.   
“You-you never told me they looked like that,” he stammered, eyes glued to the Thestral pulling their cart.   
Luna, per usual, seemed blissfully unaware of the panic surrounding her, and continued to read her Quibbler as the carriages started moving.   
“I forgot we’d be able to see them this year,” Hermione said grimly.   
The rest of the ride passed in silence. When they finally reached Hogwarts, Harry hopped out of the carriage and stretched his legs. He had been sitting all day and he was feeling a bit restless. They were walking up the steps towards the entrance to the school when Ron suddenly froze.   
“Ron,” Harry nudged Ron in the side. “What is it?”  
Ron’s mouth started to move, but no sound came out. His eyes frantically darted around his surroundings. Slowly, but surely, he started to regain control of himself and he managed to speak.   
“I’m fine,” His breathing was rushed and shallow. “I just- I mean… it was like…”  
He couldn’t seem to finish his sentence, but Neville finished it for him.   
“Like you were back at the battle?”  
“Yeah.” Ron started to move up the steps again and Neville clapped a hand on his back.   
“It’s not just you, all this summer it kept happening to me.” The group reached the grand doors and waited for a teacher to open them. “I would be working in the greenhouse or talking to my Gran and then suddenly I was back here, fighting Death Eaters.”  
“Really?” Ron’s breathing became more even.   
“I’ve been having nightmares,” Harry admitted quietly. He realized that maybe the reason his friends had avoided the topic of the war all summer wasn’t for his benefit, but for theirs. Ron gave Harry a weak smile and Hermione gave his shoulder a squeeze.   
The grand doors opened to reveal the Great Hall. Harry was relieved to find that it looked exactly as it always did, and nothing like the Great Hall from his dreams. The students bustled inside and took their seats at their usual house tables.   
Gradually, the tables filled with students and the walls echoed with chatter. Once everyone had arrived, Professor McGonagall stood and clinked her spoon against her glass, calling the students to attention. The talking died down and heads turned to listen to the new Headmistress.   
“Good evening students,” she began. Her hair was pulled back into a tight bun and her face was just as stern as ever, but Harry saw a slight smile tugging at the corner of her lips as she regarded the students. “It is with great pleasure that I welcome you back to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I am glad to see that so many of you have returned. We shall begin the Sorting Ceremony momentarily.”  
The doors opened and Hagrid trudged in, leading a large group of scared looking first years. They glanced around the room, oohing and ahhing at the various sights. Harry couldn’t help but smile as he remembered the first time he set foot in the Great Hall. The first years lined up against the wall and stared at the old, ratty Sorting hat that sat on a stool at the front of the room. A few of them jumped when it started to sing. 

“If you’re standing here in the Hogwarts Great Hall,   
Ready to break bread and share meat,  
That must mean you banded together,  
And together you brought about Voldemort’s defeat.  
Though the battle may be over,   
And the war has now been won,   
I urge you still to listen to my song,   
For a new beginning has just begun.   
For the little frightened first years,  
Great to meet you and welcome to our school!  
You shall soon be sorted into houses,  
Though no single house can rule.   
Gryffindor may claim your name,  
A house that has greatness nearly guaranteed,  
For here the bravest souls shall be found,   
Those with daring hearts who long to lead.   
Or perhaps Ravenclaw will call to you,   
With it’s knowledge seeking thirst,   
For in the heart of Rowena Ravenclaw,  
Intelligence always comes first.   
Hufflepuff has great appeal,   
If above all else you value loyalty,   
These patient hard working few,   
Make friendship a priority.   
And finally there is always Slytherin,   
Where ambitious individuals reside,   
These ruthless, cunning wizards and witches  
Are valuable to have on your side.   
Do not despair if the house you hear  
Is not the one you wished for.   
Often it is the outcome that we don’t expect  
That is worthy of much more.   
So push aside fear,   
There’s no reason for that,  
We’re all friends here,  
Come put on the Sorting Hat!”

Applause exploded throughout the hall, and Seamus stood up and whistled. McGonagall raised her hands in the air, signaling for the students to cease their clapping and return to their seats. She unfurled a sheet of parchment and called up the first new student.   
“Lovelle, Rose!” A short girl with mousy brown hair stepped up and placed the hat on her head. The hat deliberated for a few moments before its booming voice echoed throughout the room.   
“HUFFLEPUFF!” it cried, and she walked over to the table on the right where she received several high fives and hugs.   
“Blade, Balthazar!”   
“SLYTHERIN!” The black-haired boy hurried over to the silver and green clad table.   
This continued until “Kirk, Ambrose” was sorted into Gryffindor and the last of the first years settled into their new houses.   
“Welcome to Hogwarts,” greeted McGonagall, her eyes gliding over the tables of students. “I am the Headmistress, Professor Minerva McGonagall and I know that all you new first-years will find a home in this school of witchcraft and wizardry. Before we begin the feast, I do have a few announcements to make.  
“I would first like to introduce the Heads of your houses. Professor Pomona Sprout: Head of Hufflepuff House.” The Hufflepuff table gave a cheer. “Professor Filius Flitwick: Head of Ravenclaw House.” The Ravenclaws burst into applause. “Professor Horace Slughorn: Head of Slytherin.” About half of the Slytherins clapped half-heartedly while the other half sulked in their seats.   
“If McGonagall’s Headmistress, then who’s…” Harry’s question was soon answered when McGonagall started to speak.   
“Professor Rubeus Hagrid: Head of Gryffindor House.” Hagrid stood, accidentally shifting the table due to his massive size.   
There was a moment of quiet as the Gryffindors let McGonagall’s words sink in. Then, a smattering of applause and appreciative shouts erupted from the Gryffindor table. Harry, Ron, and Hermione screamed louder than the rest of the table combined. Harry always wondered what house Hagrid had been in before he was expelled; now he didn’t have to guess anymore.   
The students settled down and McGonagall began speaking again.   
“I’d also like to introduce Professor Felix Lark, your new Transfigurations teacher,” A handsome, tall, tanned man with curly blonde hair stood up and waved at the students. When he smiled, his teeth shone pearly white. He reminded Harry a bit of Lockheart. He just hoped that their resemblance was merely physical. “And Professor Valentine Noble, your new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.” Professor Noble didn’t stand or wave or smile like Professor Lark, but she nodded to the students. Her sharp features were enhanced by her blunt, dark, bobbed haircut, and she looked nearly as terrifying as Snape.   
“And finally, and most importantly,” McGonagall addressed the students. “I would like to recognize the events of the past year.” She paused. “The defeat of He-Who… of Voldemort was a great feat. But it came at a priceless cost. We suffered many losses during Voldemort’s reign of terror, especially in the Battle of Hogwarts.” She took a breath. “Their lives were not lost in vain, but that does not make their deaths any less grievous. We can never truly recover from their loss, but we can continue to live in their image. We must continue to be loyal,” She glanced over at the Hufflepuffs. “Wise,” McGonagall looked at the Ravenclaws. “Ambitious,” She gave a nod to the Slytherins. “And brave.” Her eyes finally landed on the Gryffindors.   
“Let us take a moment of silence for those who unwillingly gave their lives for the peace of the wizarding world.” The hall fell silent as the hundreds of students paid their respects to the dead. Even the Slytherins wore solemn expressions on their faces. Some minutes later, McGonagall broke the silence. “Let the feast begin.”  
The golden platters on the tables filled with delicious smelling food. There were roast chickens, mashed potatoes, fresh loaves of bread, and many more delectable treats that made Harry’s mouth water. He heard the new Gryffindor first-years gasp at the newly appeared food. He loaded up his plate and dug in.   
Once everyone had finished their dinner, the leftover savory foods disappeared and were replaced by a vast assortment of sweets. Harry glanced across the hall as he piled his plate with treacle tarts and saw a Slytherin first-year talking Malfoy’s ear off. Malfoy grew increasingly annoyed and eventually barked something at the small girl that made her shut up.   
Harry felt bad for the girl, but he couldn’t help but enjoy Malfoy’s irritation.   
“What’re you looking at Harry?” Ron looked behind him to try to spot what Harry was watching.   
“Just Malfoy telling off a first year.”   
“Seriously, he can’t even pick on someone his own size anymore?” Hermione said, exasperated. “He’s going after eleven year olds?”  
“Who?” Harry heard an American accent pipe up from next to him. He turned to see Ambrose Kirk, one of the Gryffindor first years.   
“Malfoy,” Ron said without missing a beat. He jerked his head in the direction of the Slytherin table. “Bullying a first year and classes haven’t even started yet.”  
“The girl next to him?” Ambrose pointed at the dark skinned little girl Malfoy had told off.   
“Yeah, her,” Harry confirmed.   
“That’s my sister, Joplin.”   
“Really?” Harry glanced between the two siblings, only now noticing how similar they looked.   
“Yeah, we just moved from America.”  
“Hermione,” Ron said. “Do you reckon you could get Malfoy in trouble for that? Seeing as you’re Head Girl and all?”  
“You’re Head Girl?” Ambrose asked in awe.   
“Yes,” Hermione nodded and Harry saw a slight blush creeping up her cheeks. “And now that you mention it Ron, I suppose I could. Although,” Hermione considered for a moment. “I should talk to him first. Give him a warning.”   
“Oooh yeah, you could punch him in the face again. That’d be a nice warning,” Ron suggested. Harry laughed, remembering a sniveling third year Malfoy recoiling in horror after being punched by a girl.   
“Ron!” Hermione said. “I can’t abuse my privileges as Head Girl. At least,” She lowered her voice and smiled evilly. “Not this early in the term.”  
Soon enough, dinner was over and Ron and Harry were escorting Ambrose up to the Gryffindor dormitories. Hermione tailed behind the group, making sure no first years, got lost.   
“Password?” The Fat Lady asked once they reached the entrance to Gryffindor tower.   
“Welcome back,” Dean answered. The Gryffindors filed into the common room, Hermione jogging in at the back end of the group. Ron turned to Harry.   
“The new password’s a bit simple, don’t you think?” he whispered. The Fat Lady overheard him.  
“I thought it was a nice sentiment,” she replied huffily before the door swung closed.   
Hermione pushed her way to the front of the group and addressed the first-years.   
“Boys, your dormitory is upstairs to your left, girls, to your right.” She gestured to the staircase behind her. “Classes start tomorrow and I expect everyone to get a good night’s sleep and represent Gryffindor well, goodnight,” she finished firmly. The first-years and more easily intimidated Gryffindor students moved up the stairs while most of the older students hung around in the common room. Hermione spotted Harry and Ron and made her way over to them. “How’d I do?”  
“Great ‘Mione. Very authoritative,” Ron grinned and Hermione smiled back.


	3. The Boy Who Cheated

Chapter Three

Harry woke up the next morning feeling sluggish, as his nightmares plagued his sleep once again. He walked down to the Great Hall with Hermione and Ron, who were much more energetic than he was. They talked animatedly through the halls and all Harry could manage was the occasional nod or smile.   
It was odd. He hadn’t expected to feel this nervous for his first day of classes. Of course, there was always a certain level of liveliness on the first day back at Hogwarts, but the last time Harry was scared for his new classes was when he was a clueless first-year. Perhaps it was the continued stares from his classmates or the fact that he felt as if his expectations had been raised after defeating Voldemort.   
They sat down at the Gryffindor table and Ron immediately started to stuff his face with food. Hermione shot him a disapproving look but didn’t say anything.   
Before Harry could even touch his food, Hagrid trudged into the Hall with a handful of papers in his hands.   
“Hagrid, what are those?” Hermione gestured towards the pieces of parchment.   
“O these?” Hagrid grunted. “These'll be yer timetables.” He began to pass out the papers. Many students seemed surprised when they saw Hagrid passing out their schedules as opposed to McGonagall, but it was the duty of the Heads of the Houses, and Hagrid was the new Head of Gryffindor.   
Harry grabbed his schedule from Hagrid and scanned his eyes over the paper.   
“Ugh, Double Potions this afternoon.” Harry rolled his eyes. “At least we’ll be together, right Ron?” Hermione had dropped Potions this year, as N.E.W.T level Arithmancy occured at the same time, and Hermione wasn’t looking to use a time turner ever again.  
“Er- actually,” Ron began, his face turning pink. “I’m not taking Potions this year.”  
“But you have to take Potions to be an Auror.”  
“Well…”  
“Ron, what are you on about?” Harry was more confused than ever. It was true that Ron played an instrumental role in stopping Voldemort, but the Ministry still expected incoming Aurors to have taken the required classes. Ron glanced at Hermione nervously. She seemed to give him a nod.   
“I don’t think I want to be an Auror.”   
Harry froze.   
“What?” He wasn’t sure that he heard Ron correctly.   
“I don’t want to be an Auror,” Ron repeated, more confidently this time.   
“But,” Harry struggled to put his thoughts into words. “Why?” he finished lamely.   
“I dunno,” Ron shrugged. “It just doesn’t really appeal to me anymore.” He picked up his fork and shoveled a forkful of scrambled eggs into his mouth.   
“But you’ve wanted to be an Auror since fourth year!” Harry exclaimed. “We were going to do it together!”   
“Well, yeah,” Ron paused. “But after- well, everything, I just think…” He looked up at Harry. “I just think I’ve fought enough Dark Wizards for a lifetime.”  
Harry’s anger subsided. He had never considered that Ron’s ambitions may have changed after the war. His had never wavered, he knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep at night with the knowledge that there were Dark Wizards out there and he wasn’t doing anything to stop them, but he understood Ron’s change of heart.   
“I suppose I’ll just have to suffer through Potions alone then.” Harry smiled at his red-headed best friend. Hermione smiled too and gave Ron’s arm a small squeeze. “So if not an Auror, what are you going to do after Hogwarts?”  
“I haven’t really decided yet.” Ron took a sip of his pumpkin juice. “Though, I think I might like working with George.”  
“At Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes?”  
“Yeah.” Ron smiled at the thought. “George’ll need someone to help run things when Charlie goes back to Romania, and I did always love the twins’ pranks. Even if they could be a bit destructive.”  
“I think you’d be really good at that Ronald,” Hermione said thoughtfully.   
They ate their breakfasts, chatting about their new classes and that year’s upcoming Quidditch team all the while.   
“I forgot to ask,” Ron interjected. “You are the Gryffindor captain again, right?”  
“No, he’s not,” Hermione answered for Harry.   
“I’m not?” Harry had automatically assumed that he would continue to be the captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team when he returned.   
“You didn’t get the Captain’s badge, did you?” Hermione asked, though it was clear that she already knew the answer.   
“Well, no. But I thought-”  
“Then you’re not captain,” Hermione finished for him.   
“But if Harry’s not Captain,” Ron looked nervous. “Then who is?”   
Harry understood Ron’s concern. Ron’s ability as a Keeper was good, when he was confident in his abilities. But Ron had a nasty habit of doubting himself that led to quite a few close matches in the previous years. With Harry as Captain, he was practically guaranteed a spot, but under a new Captain, his position on the team was at risk.   
“Ginny.” Hermione smiled. Ron groaned and slumped in his seat.   
“She’s never going to let me on the team.” He picked at his food.   
“She’s your sister.” Hermione stared at Ron.   
“And she can also be a right bloody git sometimes.” He glanced at Harry. “Sorry mate.”   
Harry was confused for a second as to why Ron was apologizing to him before he remembered that he was supposedly dating Ginny.   
“Oh, we’re not…” Harry trailed off.   
“You’re not?” Ron asked, a little too eagerly.   
“I mean, it’s not like… er, or I guess-”  
“Too soon for a relationship after everything?” Hermione suggested.   
“Yeah,” Harry said. “That.”  
After they had finished, the three friends traveled across the school to the Greenhouses for Herbology. Neville had arrived early and was helping Professor Sprout shovel dirt onto a large, spiked plant.   
“Hey Neville,” Harry greeted. The taller boy waved back and returned his attention towards Professor Sprout.   
Within minutes, the rest of the class streamed in. The Gryffindors shared this class with the Hufflepuffs, and Harry and his friends waved when they saw Ernie Macmillan come in.   
The class was about as interesting as Herbology got, which in Harry’s opinion, was not that interesting. Neville was ecstatic, but Harry couldn’t see what was so exciting about Alihotsy trees. The only vaguely entertaining part of the lesson was when Hannah Abbott ate one of the leaves and started laughing uncontrollably.   
“I thought you said we were supposed to eat them! Not that we weren’t supposed to!” she managed to protest between fits of laughter as she was escorted to the Hospital Wing.   
The rest of the lesson was dull in comparison, and when class had finished, Ron and Harry went up to the Gryffindor common room to start on their homework while Hermione marched off to Ancient Runes.   
“First day and we already have a four foot long essay!” Ron said, frustrated. Harry nodded, but he suspected the reason for the excess amount of homework was because the class found Hannah’s laughing fit quite amusing, and Professor Sprout did not.   
They worked for about an hour, though by the time Hermione came to get them for lunch Harry had only written about two paragraphs. Ron, on the other hand, had only written one.   
“How are we supposed to write an entire essay about a tree?” Ron exclaimed as they made their way into the Great Hall for the second time that day. “It’s a load of rubbish.”  
After lunch, they headed over to Transfiguration, where they got their true first impression of Professor Lark.   
He smiled at the students as they came in while rummaging through his desk. He seemed to find what he was looking for and pulled out a rather large stack of parchment. Harry heard giggles from the other side of the room and turned to see Lavender and Pavarti ogling over their new professor.   
Once everyone had arrived, he shuffled to the front of the room and addressed the class.   
“Good morn-” He promptly dropped his papers all over the floor. Professor Lark’s face flushed a magnificent red and Lavender bolted out of her seat. Pavarti huffed and crossed her arms over her chest.   
“I’ll help,” she said, beaming at the professor. He smiled sheepishly and still looked quite embarrassed by the time all the pages were back in his hands. He set the papers on his desk and took a deep breath before speaking again.   
“Good morning class.” His voice was quiet and gentle and sounded nothing like the strict tone of Professor McGonagall.   
“Good morning professor,” the students repeated, Pavarti’s and Lavender’s voices slightly louder than the rest of the class. Harry supposed the girls’ infatuation with the new professor made sense. He was as attractive as Lockheart, as Harry noted earlier, but didn’t seem nearly as aware of it. Professor Lark looked as though he couldn’t be more than a few years older than the students he was teaching, and he had a sort of boyish charm.  
“Welcome to Transfiguration!” He smiled broadly. “Er-well, I suppose you’ve already taken Transfigurations, given this is the N.E.W.T level class, unless… this is the N.E.W.T level class, correct?” Professor Lark seemed a bit scatter-brained.  
“Yes, Professor Lark,” Pavarti cooed. Now Lavender was sulking.   
“Fantastic! In that case, we’ll be starting a fun little project.” He turned around and grabbed the stack of parchment off his desk. He began to pass the papers out as he spoke. Luckily, he didn’t drop any. “I know it may seem a bit odd to start a project on the first day back, but this will be a fun way to prepare you for your exams.” Harry was handed a paper and he looked at it. It read Diary of an Animagus, and had several bullet points of what seemed like project requirements.   
“Over the next month or so, you will be documenting your transformation into an Animagus.” The class stared at him. “Oh no! I don’t mean you’ll actually be becoming an Animagus! That’d be absurd, and not to mention dangerous, and also illegal. Besides, you’re much too young and-”  
Hermione cleared her throat, pulling Professor Lark out of his rambling.   
“Anyway, you will be documenting your hypothetical transformation into an Animagus. So that you can become familiar with the process.” He reached behind his desk and pulled out a stack of leather-bound books. Once again, he walked around the class and passed these out to the students. “These are your diaries. All of the requirements are outlined in the parchment I gave to you. I will not be going over Animagi in class, so it is your responsibility to research and discover the exact steps required to complete the transformation. Not that you should actually attempt such a change.”  
They spent the rest of class reviewing their diary requirements and Lavender and Pavarti made up excuses to ask Professor Lark questions at least seven times each.   
“He’s a bit…” Ron whirled a finger around his head and whistled. “Don’t you think?” They were walking out of class, books in hand.   
“A bit, yeah,” Harry admitted.   
“He might be slightly scatter-brained but this Animagus project is brilliant.” Hermione beamed. When the two boys didn’t comment, she continued speaking. “The curriculum is so packed for this class that I was worried we wouldn’t be able to get through everything by the N.E.W.Ts. But if the entire Animagus unit is done through a homework project, we’ll have learned everything we need to know for the exams with time to spare!”  
“I guess it is kind of cool.” Ron shrugged.   
“It’d be a lot more fun if we actually got to become Animagi though.” Harry smiled as he thought of his dad running around Hogwarts as a stag.   
Hermione and Ron waved Harry goodbye as they wandered up to the Gryffindor common room. Harry hurried down to Potions.   
When he walked in the room, there were only a few students there. Terry Boot, Michael Corner, and Padma Patil all sat at one table and were chatting over a steaming cauldron. Zabini and Malfoy sat at a table across the room, and they weren’t nearly as chatty. Theodore Nott seemed to have vanished from the class, and Harry wondered if he returned to Hogwarts at all. Harry spotted Ernie sitting alone at a table and joined him.   
“Hullo Harry,” Ernie said as Harry sat down.   
“Hey.” Harry pulled his edition of Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered: Advanced Potions and placed it on the table. It looked like he wouldn’t be able to rely on the scribbles of the Half-Blood Prince to get him through Potions anymore.   
“No Hermione or Ron this year?” Ernie asked.   
“No, just me. The lone Gryffindor.”   
“Well, I’m the lone Hufflepuff so you’re not entirely singled out.” Harry laughed.   
“Hello students!” He turned to see Professor Slughorn standing at the front of the room. “Welcome back to N.E.W.T level Potions. I see we’re missing a few students this year, but no matter! The less the merrier!” The professor chuckled to himself. No one else found his joke funny. “You’re probably wondering what sits at each of your tables.” He gestured around the room towards the three cauldrons giving off various colored steams. “You may remember that these very potions were here on your first day of class two years ago. Can anyone remember what this potion is?” He walked towards the table that was inhabited by Ravenclaws.   
“Polyjuice potion,” Padma piped up and Slughorn nodded excitedly.   
“Very good, Miss Patil! Five points for Ravenclaw. And this one?” He pointed towards Harry’s table.   
“Veritaserum,” Ernie answered before Harry could respond.   
“Excellent Mr. Macmillan. Five points for Hufflepuff.” He finally gestured towards Malfoy’s table. Harry knew there was only one potion it could be. “And finally this potion?”  
“Amortentia,” Harry and Malfoy answered at the same time, locking eyes from across the room. Malfoy didn’t sneer at Harry like he expected him to, he simply stared at the black-haired boy.   
“Right you both are, Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Potter. Five points for Slytherin and Gryffindor each.” Professor Slughorn returned to his desk. “I told you two years ago that you would be able to brew each of these potions by the time of your exams. Now, you will do so. These are three of the hardest potions to create, so I don’t expect perfection, though I certainly wouldn’t mind it.” He gave Harry a wink. “Today, we will start working on Polyjuice potions, although this particular potion will be more of an ongoing assignment, as it takes a month to complete. Open your textbooks to page 168 and begin!” He clapped his hands and the students began to get to work.  
As class wrapped up, Harry glanced into his cauldron. It definitely did not look like the book described, but he didn’t particularly care.   
“Harry, is there a problem?” Slughorn called Harry up to his desk after the rest of the class had left.   
“No sir, no problem.”  
“Are you sure? Your Polyjuice Potion isn’t up to the standard I’m used to seeing from you.” He furrowed his eyebrows in concern.   
“I wouldn’t expect that standard to last,” Harry muttered under his breath.   
“What was that?”   
“It’s just been a while since I’ve studied Potions sir. I don’t think my skills are…” Harry tried to think of a way to word his thoughts. “Quite up to my previous standard.”  
“Nonsense! You just need a bit of time to get back in the swing of things. You’re just as talented as your mother, if not more. I remember as soon as you walked into this room, I knew you would be the best Potions student I ever-”  
“No, I’m not actually that good at Potions,” Harry tried to talk over Professor Slughorn. “I used this old, written-on textbook during Sixth year that helped me do well in the class and-” Harry wasn’t quite sure why he let this particular piece of information slip, but as soon as he did, Slughorn fell silent.   
“An old, written-on textbook?” Slughorn repeated after a moment of quiet. “Did this textbook happen to say ‘Property of the Half-Blood Prince’?” Harry was shocked. He never thought that Slughorn even knew the textbook existed.   
“Well, yes. But-”  
“And you didn’t turn it in? Or tell a teacher?” Slughorn had stood up.   
“No, but-”  
“I thought I destroyed it,” Slughorn said, more to himself than to Harry.   
“Professor, in my defense, you did hand me the textbook on the first day of class and-” Slughorn raised his hand for Harry to stop speaking. The Potions Professor had an air of authority that Harry had never seen before.   
“I should’ve ensured that the book was destroyed, yes. But do you know how dangerous that book could be? There are spells in there that you couldn’t even imagine.” Harry cringed, remembering Malfoy’s bloody body on the bathroom floor. “Not only have you disrespected me by cheating in my class, but you also put yourself and your classmates in terrible danger. If that book had fallen into the wrong hands…”  
Harry hung his head in shame. Hermione always told him not to use the Half-Blood Prince’s book, now he wished he had listened.   
“I hate to say it Harry, but there must be consequences for your actions.” Slughorn considered for a moment. “Fifty points from Gryffindor-”  
“But sir-”  
“And you will serve detention for the rest of term,” The professor finished sternly.   
“Professor Slughorn, I don’t it’s entirely fair-”  
“Then you should’ve thought about that before cheating in my class.” Harry had never seen the Potions Professor so commanding before.   
Harry gave up his protesting and sighed.   
“What time should I be here tonight Professor?”  
“You will start detention on Saturday night. Six o’clock. I’m a reasonable man Harry, I wouldn’t give you detention on your first day of classes. Besides,” Slughorn smiled. “From what I’ve heard, Gryffindor Quidditch trials will be held on Wednesday and no matter how disappointed I am in you, I can’t let the entire Gryffindor team suffer because of your rash actions.”  
“Thank you Professor.” Harry was relieved. He grabbed his bag and started to head out of the classroom, but he stopped before he stepped out into the hall. He glanced back at Professor Slughorn. “I am sorry.”  
“Go on.” Slughorn waved Harry out of the room, smiling.


	4. Defense, Dueling, and Detention

Chapter Four

Harry walked into Defense Against the Dark Arts the next day, his stomach filling with dread. During his six years at Hogwarts, he’d only ever had one decent teacher in the class. Of course, he’d liked Mad-Eye Moody at the time, but that was before he knew that his professor was actually Barty Crouch Jr. using Polyjuice Potion. And his other teachers consisted of Professor Quirell, a nervous, fidgety man who turned out to be serving Voldemort, Professor Lockheart, an idiot celebrity with no concern for anyone but himself, Professor Umbridge, a Ministry monster who enjoyed inflicting pain on her students, and Professor Snape, for whom Harry had a newfound respect, but who he never particularly liked as a teacher. Honestly, Harry would consider himself lucky if the new teacher was halfway decent.  
Harry, Hermione, and Ron walked into class and saw Professor Noble leaning back in her seat with her feet on her desk, filing her nails. When Harry first saw her in the Great Hall, he assumed she was the sort of teacher who sat frigidly upright in her chair and demanded order from her student. Based on her posture and the state of her classroom, Harry could see that this was not true.   
Dean and Seamus were throwing paper airplanes and Zabini was lying across one of the desks, reading a book that he was levitating in the air. The Gryffindors and Slytherins shared this class, and they had clearly separated by house. The Slytherins sat on the left and the Gryffindors on the right.   
“Alright, alright,” Professor Noble looked up from her nails and regarded the class. When they didn’t respond, she raised her voice. “Shut up!” she shouted. Her voice was not angry, but it was loud enough to shock the class into silence. “Thank you. So,” She put her feet on the ground and sat on the edge of her desk. “McGonagall introduced me as Professor Noble, but-.” She slid across her desk, knocking over a candle and a few loose pieces of paper in the process. She landed squarely on her feet and did not bother to pick up any of the items on the floor. “I prefer to be called Valentine. Or Val, if you prefer. I don’t really care either way.”  
Hermione sat frozen in her seat, wide-eyed. Harry figured she had never seen a teacher regard her students so informally.   
“I’m also really bad with names, so I may just refer to you by some defining physical characteristic. For example, pretty boy,” She pointed at Zabini. The book he was reading flew into her hand and she placed it on her desk. “Sit in a chair, will you?”  
Zabini rolled his eyes and made a show of sitting himself in a chair beside Malfoy.   
“Thanks.” She nodded at him and he nodded curtly back. “Now, from what I understand, you all have quite a bit of experience defending yourself against dark magic. In fact, based on what I’ve heard and read in the Daily Prophet, I’m quite confident you know more about this subject than I do.” Harry looked around the class and saw many astonished faces. He had never heard a Hogwarts professor admit that the students were more capable than they were. “Nonetheless, I am your teacher and you still have to prepare for your N.E.W.Ts. I personally prefer a more practical approach to Defense Against the Dark Arts; I find reading about defensive spells much less useful than actually practicing defensive spells. However, given your past experience, I would completely understand if any of you would rather take a more theoretical approach. I will try to give you a bit of both, as there will be both a written and practical portion of your exam.”  
Hermione had been taking notes the entire time.   
“You, wavy hair, there’s no need to take notes.” Hermione flushed red. “Unless you want to, of course. But I’m sure you already know all of this information.”  
Hermione put her quill down and crossed her arms over her chest.  
“We’ll be beginning the term with a Dueling Unit. We’ll be practicing simple, safe, defensive spells.” She started to casually walk around the classroom. “I’ll be putting you into pairs where one person will act as the attacker, and the other as the defender. You will switch positions periodically throughout classes, so you will each get an equal amount of practice.” Harry thought of Lockheart’s failed dueling club second year and hoped that Valentine’s classroom duels would go better. “The attacker will be given a list of offensive spells they are allowed to use. Any other spells used will result in an immediate removal from the class and a subtraction of fifty points from the house of whomever violated the rules.”   
A few faces around the room were alarmed at the harsh punishments.   
“I want to ensure that this classroom remains a safe environment. I would rather you all fail your N.E.W.Ts than feel unsafe at any point.” She returned to her desk and picked up a paper off the ground. “I will now read your pairings. No complaining, please. Neville Longbottom and Dean Thomas. Seamus Finnigan and Pansy Parkinson. Hermione Granger and Pavarti Patil. Harry Potter and Blaise Zabini. And finally,” Ron groaned, seeing that Malfoy was the only unpaired person left in the class. “Ron Weasley and Draco Malfoy.”   
“Sorry mate,” Harry comforted Ron.  
The rest of the week passed in a blur of homework, note-taking, and Gryffindor Quidditch Trials. Although Harry was initially disappointed that he was no longer Quidditch Captain, he now felt relief. He could spend his final year at Hogwarts just enjoying himself rather than trying to lead. He was slightly worried before the trials, given his uncertain relationship with Ginny, but compared to all the other Gryffindor students trying out for Seeker, Harry was clearly the best. Ron, to his surprise, did in fact make the team and became Gryffindor’s Keeper. Ginny kept the two beaters from when Harry was Captain: Jimmy Peaks and Ritchie Coote. Ginny was a Chaser, alongside Dean and Pavarti, who surprised Harry when she showed up to trials.   
Saturday night, Harry reluctantly bid his friends ado and headed to Slughorn’s classroom for his detention.   
“Ah Harry, glad you could join us!” Professor Slughorn greeted when Harry ambled into the room.   
“Us?” Harry cocked his head. He didn’t think anyone else would have detention this early in the year. He turned around and spotted Malfoy leaning back in a desk at the back of the classroom, glaring at Harry.   
“Yes, you’ll be doing your detention with Draco here.” Slughorn waved Malfoy over and the blonde boy came and stood beside Harry, irritation radiating off of him. “You’ll be dusting the vials in my Potions cabinet. No magic, though.” He walked over to his cabinet and opened it. “I’ll be back at eleven o’clock to dismiss you. Good evening.” Slughorn grabbed his bag and walked out the door, leaving Harry and Malfoy alone.   
“Potter,” Malofy said coolly.   
“Malfoy,” Harry said, trying to make his tone as nasty as his blonde counterpart. They spent a minute in silence, and when Malfoy opened his mouth to speak, Harry expected a snarky comment and was pleasantly surprised by what he said instead.   
“You take the left side, I’ll take the right,” he said curtly. Then he moved to the cabinet and picked up two containers. Harry stood still, waiting for the Slytherin boy to hurl insults his way. “Feeling particularly slow today, are we Potter?”   
Harry grabbed a few vials and sat at one of the tables. He had dusted a few vials before Malfoy passed Harry to grab more. He scooped a few into his arms and tripped over the edge of a table. Harry jumped out of his seat and caught one of the beakers falling out of Malfoy’s arms. He bumped shoulders with Malfoy as he did and came face to face with his stormy grey eyes. The blonde boy snatched the glass out of Harry’s hands and retreated a few steps backward.   
“I didn’t need your help Potter,” he spat, straightening up.   
“Oh yeah, I’m sure Slughorn would’ve loved it if you broke his vials,” Harry retorted, returning to his seat.   
Malfoy sneered at Harry and continued on to his desk. Harry once again wondered what Malfoy could have possibly done to get detention at the beginning of the term. He felt a familiar suspicion rise in the back of his mind. They worked in silence for a few minutes before Harry grew frustrated with the ongoing quiet and decided to ask Malfoy point blank.  
“Why are you in detention?” Malfoy tensed at the sound of Harry’s voice but gave no other indication that he’d heard him. “I mean, it’s barely the start of term. What could you have possibly done to earn detention so early in the year?”  
“I could ask you the same thing Potter.” Malfoy looked up from his work and locked eyes with Harry. The eye contact was almost like a challenge, and Harry rose to the bait.   
“I asked first, Malfoy.”  
“And I asked second,” the Slytherin boy responded sharply, a smirk appearing on his pointed face. Harry sighed. If Malfoy’s body language and tone were any indication, Harry wasn’t going to get any answers of his own unless he answered Malfoy’s question first.   
“Slughorn found out that I sort of… cheated during Potions in sixth year.” Malfoy quirked a fine, blonde eyebrow. “I used this book, it was actually Snape’s old textbook,” At the sound of Snape’s name, Malfoy’s smirk faded. “And it had all these scribbled tips and tricks on how to brew better potions. And instead of reporting it or turning it in, I kept it and used it for the entire year.” Harry waited for Malfoy to respond. He knew the blonde boy would have some kind of comment to make about the fact that Harry’s Potion dominance over Malfoy was only because he cheated.   
“I knew you must’ve cheated.” Malfoy shrugged. Harry rolled his eyes. There was no way Malfoy could have known he had cheated; he was just so eager to justify Harry’s top Potions grade that he quickly accepted Harry’s cheating. “Before sixth year you were miserable at Potions and then suddenly you’re Slughorn’s favorite student.” His voice lowered into a sort of growl. “You have no idea how frustrating it was to actually be good at Potions and then suddenly be beaten out by a clueless idiot, especially when that idiot is the Chosen One, bloody Harry Potter.” Harry snorted and Malfoy glared at him.  
“So what about you?” Harry asked, eager to find out what awful thing Malfoy had done.   
“Hm?” Malfoy had gone back to his dusting and didn’t look back up at Harry.   
“Why are you in detention?” Harry clarified.  
“None of your business Potter,” Malfoy said, amused.   
“But I told you!” Harry exclaimed, though he realized he shouldn’t have expected any different. This was Draco Malfoy after all. “It’s only fair.”  
“I think you might find, Potter, that fair isn’t in my vocabulary,” Malfoy mused.   
The pair continued to polish and dust the beakers, the only sound was the occasional clinking of glass. Harry was deep in concentration. What was Malfoy up to? It felt like sixth year all over again, his mind riddled with thoughts of the Slytherin boy. The seconds turned into minutes turned into an hour as Harry considered all the possibilities. Another Death Eater invasion of Hogwarts? No, not possible given all the new security. Plus, Harry doubted there were even enough Death Eaters left to complete the task. Perhaps he was planning something against Harry specifically. After all, it was him who finally defeated Voldemort.   
Several times over the course of the hour, Malfoy raised his head and looked at Harry, as if he had something to say. The final time he glanced at Harry, he finally managed to speak.   
“I never did thank you.” Harry looked up from his dusting. The voice was barely audible, even in the silent room. He turned to look at Malfoy, seeing as he was the only other person in the room.   
“What?”   
“I never thanked you. For… for saving my life,” Malfoy said, soft spoken. He couldn’t look at Harry as he spoke, so he stared at the ground instead.  
“And?” Harry huffed. If he was expecting anything from this detention with his rival, it certainly wasn’t a show of gratitude from Malfoy.   
“I should’ve thanked you,” he snapped. Malfoy finally looked at Harry. His face was contorted into a sneer. Malfoy returned his head to the vials on his desk and swallowed, his menacing expression now gone. “You didn’t… you shouldn’t have done that.”   
“So now, instead of thanking me, you’re reprimanding me for saving your life?” Harry said bitterly. He’d gotten used to receiving thanks from people he never expected. At this point, it was pretty much a regular occurance. But this was the worst thank you he had ever heard. “You’re really awful at this, Malfoy.”  
“I’m just saying, if it were me,” Malfoy spat, clearly frustrated. As soon as he looked at Harry, however, his demeanor softened and he frowned. “I wouldn’t have done the same.” His voice was soft again.   
“I know. Luckily, I’m not you.” Harry shrugged. The thought that Malfoy would have left him to die if their positions had been switched had crossed his mind a few times. He wasn’t upset about it though. He figured that just served as another example that Harry was a better person than Malfoy. “And, twice, actually.”  
“Excuse me?” Malfoy was, once again, irritated. Clearly, this was not a conversation he wanted to be having, even if he was the one who initiated it.   
“I saved your life twice,” Harry said nonchalantly, keeping his eyes fixed on a glass beaker that he was polishing. “I was the one who stunned that Death Eater.”  
“Oh,” Malfoy uttered. The two boys worked in silence for a few moments before Harry couldn’t resist opening his mouth.   
“And you still haven’t actually thanked me.” Harry only said this to further annoy Malfoy. Never in a million years would he actually expect the blonde haired boy to thank him. Even if he did save his life.   
“You’re not going to make this easy for me, are you Potter?” Malfoy glared at Harry.  
“Did you really think I would?” Harry mused. Quiet took over the room once again, and Harry felt fully satisfied now that he had thoroughly bothered Malfoy. But the Slytherin boy broke the silence a minute later.  
“Thank you. For saving my life,” he said, barely above a whisper. “Twice,” he added, grimacing as if thanking Harry was causing him physical pain.   
“Now, was that hard?” Harry teased, enjoying Malfoy’s embarrassment much more than he should.   
“Yes actually. Exceedingly so.”


	5. Breakups by the Great Lake

Chapter Five

The next few weeks passed in a blur of lectures, Quidditch practices, and enough homework to drown all of Gryffindor house. If Harry thought that the professors were going to take it easy on the returning eighth years, he was sorely mistaken. Ron and Hermione became more comfortable showing physical affection around Harry; it was still odd, but Harry wasn’t bothered by it. The only thing that did bother him was the fact that his friends would always look at him as if he were a hurt puppy, regardless of how many times he insisted that he supported their relationship.   
Quidditch practices were admittedly a bit awkward, as Ginny kept approaching Harry afterwards like she wanted to talk. Harry always made some sort of hasty excuse to leave as soon as possible after practice was over, but he couldn’t help the twinge of guilt that pulled at his stomach every time he saw Ginny’s face. At first, he wasn’t entirely sure why he made such an effort to avoid her; after all, they would never be able to get back together if they didn’t talk. But after having time to think, Harry realized that his avoidance of Ginny wasn’t driven by a desire to avoid awkward conversation: he was avoiding her because he truly didn’t want to be in a relationship with her anymore.   
It was painfully obvious that Ginny still loved him, and with the not-so-subtle hints Hermione and Ron were dropping, it would be impossible for Harry to claim that he was unaware of her feelings. Luckily, neither Ginny, Hermione, or Ron had directly asked Harry about any of it yet, so for the time being, Harry chose to ignore his issues with Ginny and focus on other things.   
Detensions with Malfoy were surprisingly bearable. The Slytherin boy seemed to make a point of pretending Harry didn’t exist while they worked, and Harry returned the favor. They rarely spoke, only breaking the silence when one of them would make a snide comment under his breath and the other would pretend not to hear. If Harry ignored the dreadful tension that ran between the boys, he could almost imagine he was working with a stranger. Almost.   
The only thing bothering Harry besides his situation with Ginny and detentions with Malfoy were his recurring nightmares. They happened less frequently now that he was at Hogwarts, but he still sometimes woke up whimpering in the night and only hoped that Ron or the other boys in his dormitory hadn’t noticed.   
Harry sat on the floor with his back against the couch. Hermione laid in Ron’s lap reading a book while the lanky ginger absentmindedly ran his fingers through her hair. As nice as the gesture seemed, Ron’s hands were not particularly gentle, so the sounds of the crackling fire or flipping pages was occasionally interrupted by a muffled “ow” from Hermione followed by a glare at Ron.   
Harry was desperately trying to focus on his Charms homework - Flitwick had given them eight inches due the next Monday - but Holly kept curling into his lap, preventing him from writing. Eventually, he gave up and stroked Holly’s soft tan fur until she was fast asleep.   
“She’s really cute,” Ron murmured. At first, Harry thought he was talking about Hermione, but his eyes were fixed on the snoring puppy in Harry’s lap.   
“Yeah.” Harry smiled. She was nothing like Hedwig, who wouldn’t hesitate to nip Harry when she was upset or hungry: Holly was always sweet and cuddly  
“Harry,” Hermione began apprehensively. “Can I ask you something?”  
Harry sighed. There were a number of things she could ask about, none of them he was eager to talk about.   
“Er-yeah.”  
“I was wondering what’s going on with you and Ginny?” She averted her attention away from her book and onto Harry. Ron peered over at his friend as well.   
“Nothing.” Harry shrugged. It was true. There honestly wasn’t anything going on between him and Ginny anymore.   
“What I mean is” - Hermione sat up from Ron’s lap and crossed her arms over her chest - “Last time we talked about her, you said you weren’t ready to be in a relationship yet.” She raised an eyebrow, obviously trying to coax an explanation out of Harry.   
“Yup.” Harry nodded affirmatively, refusing to say anymore.   
“Well,” Hermione’s tone started to become frustrated. “It’s been a few weeks. So are you ready yet?” Harry glanced down at the sleeping dog in his lap. He had admitted to himself that he didn’t want to be in a romantic relationship with Ginny at all, but admitting it to his friends was something else entirely. Especially when one of those friends was Ginny’s brother.   
Hermione sighed at Harry’s silence. “She’s ready,” she stated matter-of-factly. “She’s been ready for a while now. And quite frankly, it’s getting rather exhausting watching you two dance around each other. Well, more like watching you dance around her.”   
“I hate to admit it mate, but she’s right,” Ron chimed in. “You and Ginny… you work together. And I think she’s getting a bit tired of you ignoring her.”  
“I haven’t been ignoring her,” Harry said defensively. He may have been avoiding isolated conversations with her, but he didn’t think he had been outright ignoring Ginny.   
“You have.” Hermione leaned down towards Harry, propping elbows on her knees and placing her face in her hands. “And I hate to say it, but I don’t she’s going to wait for you much longer Harry.” Harry’s face must’ve shown his shock, because Hermione quickly started to reassure him. “She loves you. You know she does and she probably always will, but you don’t have the right to ask her to wait for you.”  
“I know.” Harry sighed.   
“So you’re going to get back together then?” Ron asked, his expression somehow halfway between hopeful and perturbed. Although he always tried to be supportive of Harry’s relationship with his sister, Harry knew it was slightly uncomfortable for his red-haired friend.   
“I-” Harry began, but wasn’t sure exactly what to say. If he told his friends that he didn’t want to get back together with Ginny, would they be angry, assuming that he had been leading her on all this time? Had he been leading her on? Harry winced. He didn’t mean to. All he wanted was some time to himself to figure out his own feelings.   
“Harry?” Hermione looked concerned.   
“I don’t want to be with Ginny,” he mumbled, avoiding his friend’s eyes by keeping his gaze fixed on Holly.   
“What was that?” Ron leaned forward.   
“I said,” Harry took a breath. “I don’t want to be with Ginny.”   
His friends stared at him with incredulous looks.   
“At first, I just thought… well, like you said, I thought I just wasn’t ready. I thought if I just had some time on my own, I could, you know, sort myself out and be with her again. But then as the weeks passed, I sort of… I just don’t feel that way about her anymore.”  
“Are you sure?” Ron asked dumbly.   
“Yeah, pretty sure mate.”   
“Does she know that?” Hermione questioned carefully. Fierceness flashed behind her eyes. Harry knew that Hermione and Ginny were close and he’d have hell to pay if he hurt her.   
“Not yet,” Harry admitted. “I just have no idea how to tell her. I don’t want to break her heart, she’s still my friend.”  
“Oh Harry,” Hermione chuckled slightly. “It would take a lot more than you to break Ginny’s heart.”  
“I don’t know whether I should be relieved or insulted.” Harry rolled his eyes, but he was smiling.   
“Maybe a bit of both.” Hermione smiled and laid her head back in Ron’s lap. “You need to tell her though. And soon.”  
“I know. I will.” Harry swallowed and returned his attention to Holly.   
The next day, Harry hurriedly changed after Quidditch practice in the hopes of catching Ginny before his detention. Luckily, he didn’t have to try too hard as Ginny was waiting for him outside the locker room.   
“Ginny,” Harry said, surprised. “Hi. Have you been waiting for me?”  
“Not for long.” She bit her lip and smiled. “Hermione said you wanted to see me.” Her face was flushed from soaring around in the darkening sky and her vivid red hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail. She looked happy, refreshing, alive. Before, Harry would have struggled to keep his hands off of her when she was like this, but now, he only dreaded the fact that he was going to hurt her with what he had to say.   
“I did. I do.” Harry glanced around as the last few Quidditch players wandered off towards Gryffindor tower. “I don’t have all that long; I have detention at seven, but I wanted to talk to you. Let’s take a walk.”  
“Alright,” Ginny said, blushing. Obviously Hermione didn’t tell her that Harry was planning on officially ending things. They were walking along the Great Lake when Ginny spoke. “I’ve missed you.”   
Harry smiled. “I’ve missed you too,” he said. It was true. Even though he didn’t want a romantic relationship with her, Harry had desperately missed Ginny over the last few weeks. He missed her feisty comebacks, her fierce passion, her unending compassion.   
“So does that mean that you…” Ginny trailed off, gazing into Harry’s eyes, urging him to finish her sentence. Harry sighed and broke eye contact.   
“No,” he said after a moment of silence. “I’m not…. I don’t think-”  
“You’re still not ready,” Ginny interrupted. Her tone was understanding but Harry could see the hurt behind her eyes.   
“It’s not that.” Harry shook his head and took Ginny’s hands in his. “Ginny, you are so incredible in so many ways. You’re brave, loyal, fierce, talented, wickedly funny, and beautiful.”  
Ginny squinted at Harry, trying to make sense of what he was saying.   
“I love you,” he breathed. “And I’ll always love you. You saw me, the real me, and you loved me for it. I’ve always felt like I can be myself around you. You’re good for me. But I’m not good for you.”  
“Harry, that’s ridiculous. You-”  
“Please,” he begged. “Just let me finish.” Ginny bit her lip and reluctantly nodded. “I hold you back. I’m protective and I never want you getting hurt and you’re too kind and considerate not to listen to me, so I end up holding you back. It wasn’t fair for me to ask you to wait for me when the war started, and it isn’t fair for me to keep asking you to wait for me.”  
“I’ll always wait for you. You know that.” Ginny’s eyes were alive with a fire that only she possessed and Harry desperately wished he could just feel the way he used to and take her into his arms. But he didn’t and he couldn’t.  
“I know. That’s why I’m not asking you to.” He dropped her hands.  
“What are you saying?” Her face held strong but her voice shook.   
“I’m saying you deserve someone who wants you enough that they will never ask you to wait for them. And… that’s not me, Ginny. Like I said, I’ll always love you, but ever since after the war… my feelings changed. They changed and I don’t know why, but I just don’ t see myself with you anymore.”  
Ginny turned away from Harry and crossed her arms over her chest. He could see the struggle in her face as she tried not to cry.   
“You deserve someone who loves you as more than a friend. You deserve someone who thinks that you’re the moon and the sun and all the stars.”  
“I understand.” Her voice came out as barely above a whisper.   
“You’ll always be my friend, Ginny. I’ll always care for you. I hope you know that.”  
“I do,” she whispered shakily.   
“Do you want me to stay?” Harry offered. He knew there’d be hell to pay with Slughorn if he skipped detention, but he was more than willing to pay that price if Ginny needed him.   
“No,” She turned back towards Harry and forced a small smile on her face. “I’ll be fine. I just need… some time. Just a little bit. You go to detention.”  
“Alright.” Harry started to head back towards the castle but stopped after a few steps. “Ginny?”  
“Yeah?”  
“I’m really sorry.” Harry gulped.   
“You have nothing to be sorry for.” Ginny smiled, this time genuinely, and then gestured towards the castle. “Go on, your detention awaits.”  
“You really are the best.”  
“I know I am.”


	6. None of Your Business

Chapter Six

The news of Ginny and Harry’s official breakup spread through Gryffindor like wildfire. It had only been a few days and both the Boy-Who-Lived and his ex were now being constantly berated by questions about their past relationship or advances from other single Gryffindors.  
Harry still hadn’t talked to Ginny since their walk by the lake; he was trying to respect her request for some time away from him. But he still found himself missing her company. Every now and then, he would catch her eye and she’d smile his way, but he pledged that he wouldn’t talk to her until she talked to him. Although he longed to gossip with her about all of the various girls that had approached him over the last few days. He knew Ginny would find it funny given the numerous suitors courting her.   
Oddly enough, Harry’s one escape from all the attention was detention with Malfoy. At least there, no one asked him out or tried to proposition him. All he had to face in detention was Malfoy, and given the choice between mobs of teen girls and his former nemesis, Harry would surprisingly go with the latter. At least, until Malfoy decided to bring up Ginny in Slughorn’s classroom one Wednesday night.   
“So how’s the Weaslette?” Malfoy smirked. Harry looked up from his polishing. They had finished the first cabinet of potions supplies and were now onto the second. It was slow work, but Slughorn insisted they do it without magic. At this rate, Harry figured they might be finished cleaning by the end of term.   
Harry stared blankly at Malfoy. For the last three weeks, the only communication the two boys shared was either a few curt words of instruction from Malfoy at the beginning of every detention or the occasional muttered insult.   
“What?”  
“Are you deaf?” Malfoy sneered, but cleared his throat and repeated himself. “How’s the Weaslette?”  
“Don’t call her that,” Harry said through gritted teeth. He hated it when Malfoy referred to Ginny that way. She might not be his girlfriend anymore, but she was still his friend, and the blonde was dead wrong if he thought he could mouth off with no consequences.   
“Fine.” He rolled his eyes and scrunched his eyebrows as if he was concentrating very hard. “What's her name again? Gwenyth.” He pretended to consider for a moment, scratching the side of his head with a long, bony finger. “No, Gianna.”  
“Ginny.” Harry seethed. Malfoy knew perfectly well what Ginny’s name was.   
“Yes, how’s Ginny?” Malfoy sighed but still smiled mischievously. He returned to his polishing, but that damn smirk stayed plastered on his face.  
“She’s fine,” Harry said curtly. He could feel Malfoy’s amusement radiating off of him and he so badly wanted to wipe the smug look off his face. “We’re not together anymore though, if that’s what you thought.”  
“Oh.” That did the trick. Malfoy was not used to being wrong. “I just assumed-”  
“Well, we’re not,” Harry interrupted bluntly. A few moments of quiet passed. A new glint appeared in Malfoy’s eye.   
“Too many girls begging for a date with the Chosen One to stay tied down, Potter?” Malfoy joked. He arched one eyebrow suggestively and Harry felt his face burn with embarrassment.   
“Of course not.” Harry brushed Malfoy off, furiously scrubbing at a beaker with his rag.   
“Be careful or you’ll break that thing.” Malfoy pointed out. Harry glowered but stopped polishing the glass so aggressively. “I personally don’t understand what they see in you,” Malfoy continued. “Your hair’s far too messy, you have no style, and you smell like-” At this, Harry stared at Malfoy. The blonde boy stopped talking and pursed his lips together, his ears turning a slight pink. “Let’s just say they must like you for your personality,” he quickly finished.  
“Was that a compliment?” Harry smirked, trying to catch Malfoy off guard. It worked and now Malfoy’s entire face had turned a rosy hue.   
“What-no! I, I mean I wouldn’t-er,” Malfoy stammered, becoming more flustered by the minute. “Shut up Potter,” he finally managed to say.   
“What about you and that Pansy girl?” Harry asked casually, wanting to remove the focus from himself and continue to embaress Malfoy. The Slytherin boy squinted at Harry, his confusion clear. “What?”  
“I never knew you cared, Potter.” Malfoy shrugged, his voice laced with sarcasm.   
“I don’t,” Harry said coolly. “I just noticed things, that’s all.” Memories of Pansy running her fingers through Malfoy’s hair on the train played through his head.   
“Oh yeah, when you were stalking me in sixth year?” The corner of Malfoy’s mouth tweaked upwards in a smile.   
“I never-I-I didn’t stalk you!” Harry exclaimed. Although, if he thought about it, he supposed that his obsession with Malfoy in sixth year did probably qualify as stalking. Even if it was for a good reason.   
“Pansy and I were never really together,” Malfoy said off handedly, ignoring Harry’s stuttering.   
“She seemed to think you were.” Harry remarked.   
“Her mistake,” Malfoy mused, his smirk replaced by a genuine smile. He had a knowing glint in his eye.   
“So why not?” Harry asked. “Why weren’t you together?” They seemed perfectly suited for each other. Both Slytherins, both purebloods, both insufferable gits: they deserved each other.   
“She wasn’t my type,” Malfoy answered simply. When he didn’t say anymore, Harry pried further.   
“Then who is your type, Malfoy?” Harry jeered. Malfoy sighed and rolled his eyes.   
“None of your business Potter.”  
Harry returned to his dormitory that night exhausted and still slightly confused from his conversation with Malfoy. Why would the Slytherin boy bring up Ginny so randomly? Was he just trying to get under Harry’s skin? Harry figured he must be.   
He stepped into the common room and was closing the door behind him when he heard a gasp. He whipped around and saw a very rosy faced Hermione and Ron sitting on the couch. Well, more like Hermione was sitting on the couch and Ron was laying halfway on the couch and halfway on the floor as if he’d been flung off. Hermione’s lips were slightly swollen and Ron had a purplish bruise darkening on his neck. Harry couldn’t help the laugh that escaped him.   
“Harry, we thought that you’d be out much later,” Ron grumbled, attempting to fix his messed up hair.   
“Mm hm. I can see that.” Harry rolled his eyes, smiling.   
“We were just-” Ron looked at Hermione, unsure how to finish his sentence.   
“Studying. We were just studying,” she said, not very convincingly.   
“Right,” Harry nodded. “Well, don’t let me interrupt your studying. I’m going up to bed.” He started up the stairs but turned back to speak to them before he reached the dorms. “Next time you two want to have a snog, I might recommend finding someplace a bit more private than the common room. Might I suggest the broom closet on the second floor? It’s rarely occupied.”  
Hermione’s entire face paled but Ron nodded weakly. Harry bit back laughter as he walked into the dorm room and made his way over to the bed. Finally, he started to chuckle to himself, quietly, as to not wake the other boys in the room. Unfortunately, he seemed to do just that, and Neville rolled over in his bed to face Harry.   
“Harry, is that you?” he muttered sleepily.   
“Yeah, sorry if I woke you.” Harry pulled his pajamas out of his drawer and started to change.   
“It’s okay. What are you laughing about?” Neville peered at Harry curiously.   
“It’s nothing. I’ll tell you in the morning.” The raven-haired boy pulled his pajama shirt on and climbed into his bed. He was careful not to disturb Holly, who was fast asleep in a little ball at the foot of his bed.   
“M’kay.” Neville closed his eyes and wriggled under the covers to get comfortable. Then, his eyes suddenly burst open and he practically leaped out of bed. “Oh! I almost forgot.” Harry watched as Neville quietly made his way across the room and picked up a small rectangle package by the door. He tip-toed over to Harry and handed the box to him. “Some owl dropped this off here for you a few hours ago.”  
“What kind of owl?” Harry had become wary of strange packages arriving by unknown owls. Twice that summer, fangirls had somehow managed to send Harry boxes of chocolate that Hermione confirmed were full of love potion.   
“I dunno. Er- small, brown with spots, very friendly.” Harry smiled as he realized who sent the package.   
“It must be from Andromeda!” He eagerly took the package from Neville and the taller boy settled back into his own bed, practically snoring as soon as his head hit the sheets. Harry drew the curtains around his bed and cast a quick Lumos to see what was inside the box. He tore off the brown paper covering and found a small, black, leather bound book with a letter attached to it. He opened the letter first and was greeted by Andromeda’s familiar scrawl.   
Dear Harry, the letter began. I hope all is well at Hogwarts. I’m glad you decided to return. I know how much Tonks used to love it there. Teddy’s just fine, although I’m fairly certain he misses you. His hair’s been green ever since your last visit over summer. Harry’s eyebrows furrowed. He wasn’t exactly sure what that was supposed to mean. The letter continued, seeming to read Harry’s mind. I should probably explain. I have a theory about Teddy’s hair. You see, when Tonks was younger, her mood was reflected in her hair; I think Teddy is the same way. Except, his colors are different from Tonk’s: Blue is happy, green is sad, yellow is angry, and red is scared. It occasionally changes to pink and purple, but I still haven’t quite figured out what those ones mean yet.   
I do hope we’ll see you over Winter holiday. I know Teddy would love it, and I could use the company. Your friends, Hermione and Ron, are welcome to come as well of course, although I’m sure they’d rather stay with their families. Of course, I understand if you would rather stay at Hogwarts; it is your last year after all.   
Anyway, the reason I’m writing is because I was cleaning up at Grimmauld place and I found a few of Sirius’ old possessions. Most of them seemed unimportant, but I thought you would like to have this. It’s Sirius’ old diary from when he attended Hogwarts. I think he’d want you to have it. Who knows, maybe you’ll find some deep wisdom inside. Although, knowing my cousin, I highly doubt that.   
I hope you enjoy the diary, and please do write soon!  
Love,   
Andromeda and Teddy  
While Harry had spent a considerable portion of his summer at the Burrow, he also frequented Andromeda’s via Portkey. Harry would have Apparated, but unfortunately, both the Weasleys and the Tonks had to put up Apparition wards to prevent fans from invading their personal space.   
Seeing Teddy was always bittersweet for Harry. The sweet, typically blue-haired little boy filled Harry’s heart with a sense of hope: somehow, within all the darkness and evil of the War, new life was created. Teddy, in Harry’s mind, was a vision of the future, proof that he had achieved his goal in defeating Voldemort. Yet, Harry thought selfishly, Teddy was also just another reminder of everyone he had lost: Remus, Tonks, Sirius, Dumbledore, Snape, Hedwig, Fred - the list went on and on. The boy would grow up without his mother or father; he’d grow up an orphan, just like Harry.   
Harry shook his head. No. Teddy wouldn’t be like Harry. Harry had no one he knew cared about him until he was eleven. Teddy would be different. Teddy had him, and Andromeda, and Ron, and Hermione, and so many others. The child might be an orphan but there was no way Harry would ever let him grow up feeling unloved.   
Harry closed the letter and placed it on his bedside table as a reminder to write Andromeda back tomorrow morning. Carefully, he reached for the old, leather diary and opened it to the first page. A warning was sprawled across the paper in messy handwriting.   
To whoever decided to snoop through my things (I’m looking at you Wormtail), know that if I ever find out what you’ve done, the consequences will be severe.   
Messer Padfoot  
Harry smiled, but he felt a familiar ache run through his chest. If only things had been different; then maybe Sirius would be recounting the crazy stories of his youth in person rather than through a dusty old diary.   
He flipped the page and began to read.


	7. Ride to Hogwarts: 1976

Chapter Seven

On the next page, a short entry was scribbled out. Words were written all over the page with a shimmering, silver ink. Harry squinted, struggling to read the handwriting.   
September 1st, 1976  
Dear whomever is reading this and reccounting Sirius Black’s greatness (If this is you Remus, I do hope you noted my use of the word “whomever,” I thought you’d appreciate that. Also, STOP SNOOPING. Not that I think you’d snoop through my things, just on the off chance.)  
I returned to Hogwarts today. Euphemia and Fleamont took us. I didn’t see Regulus or mother at the station, but I guess that’s probably a good thing. You should’ve seen James and his mum though. She hugged him and I don’t let she’d have ever let him go if he didn’t make such a fuss…  
Harry tried to keep reading but suddenly the world began to spin. His surroundings blurred and grew out of focus.  
Harry stumbled when he landed at what appeared to King’s Cross Station. For a brief moment, he glanced around for Dumbledore, remembering that his last unintentional visit to King’s Cross was when he was struck by Voldemort. However, the station looked completely normal. Children were mulling around, their parents in tow pulling their carts. The Hogwarts Express stood as real as ever, and when Harry peered inside the compartment, he could already see children inside.   
Harry began walking through the crowd, and he was about to tap a black haired woman on the shoulder to ask what was going on when she began to speak.   
“James, I am serious.” Her voice came out stern and motherly. Harry peered over the woman’s shoulder to see a face that he was hauntingly familiar with: it was his father, James Potter.   
His hair was just as dark and messy as Harry recalled from Snape’s memories. He still sported the same glasses he had been wearing for his O.W.Ls, but he somehow looked older, more mature, more like a man than a boy.   
“Actually, I’m Sirius.” Harry’s head whipped around to come face to face with a handsome, long haired boy with piercing grey eyes.   
Sirius wore a smirk on his face and didn’t seem to see or notice Harry standing right in front of him.   
“Shush, you. You’re not helping.” Euphemia Potter pointed a finger at Sirius and his smile only grew larger, flashing his perfectly white teeth.  
“Sorry Euphemia. I was just stating facts.” James’ mother rolled her eyes, but there was a smile on her face.   
“Listen up, both of you.” The two boys both faced the older woman. “This is your sixth year at Hogwarts and I don’ t want to hear about any funny business. Do you hear me?”  
“Yes ma’am,” both boys echoed.   
“Well, I don’t know about no funny business Mia.” A tall, black-haired man with glasses came alongside Euphemia and placed a hand on her shoulder. He looked a lot like James, and, Harry realized, a lot like himself. Harry figured this must be his grandfather, Fleamont Potter.   
“Fleamont,” Euphemia started reasonably, as if she’d had this conversation before. “It is their first year preparing for the N.E.W.Ts, they can’t afford to be distracted while preparing for dangerous or reckless pranks all over the school!”  
“To be fair, we pulled dangerous and reckless pranks all of last year and still passed all of our O.W.Ls,” James butted in, a mischievous smile taking over his face. His mother groaned.   
“Just stay out of trouble, will you?” she pleaded. James and Sirius exchanged glances and sighed.   
“We promise,” they said in unison, but from Harry’s angle, he could see Sirius crossing his fingers behind his back.   
“Well then,” She seemed to accept their answer and she handed each boy a small sack. “For the snack trolley.” They took the bags. “And off with you!”  
James’ mother pulled him into a hug, and he struggled against it. Sirius exchanged a handshake with Fleamont.   
“Mum,” he whined. “You’re embarrassing me.” She ruffled his hair as he wriggled out of her grasp, but as soon as he escaped, his father tugged him into a hug of his own, smothering him with affection.  
Euphemia reached out to Sirius, who had his hand outstretched to her for a handshake, but she brushed his hand aside and roped him into a bone-crushing embrace. Unlike James, Sirius actually relaxed into the touch, and wrapped his arms around Euphemia.   
“If you need anything, anything at all,” Euphemia whispered fiercely into Sirius’ ear. “Please write home. You are as much our son as James is.” He pulled away, nodding, and Harry swore he saw Sirius’ eyes start to glisten.   
“Come on Padfoot, we better find the others before they think we’ve abandoned them!” James grabbed Sirius’ hand and pulled him through the crowd, away from his parents. Sirius waved back at the couple, but James seemed to have his mind elsewhere. Harry rushed after them and climbed on board the Hogwarts Express. Catching sight of messy black hair, he sprinted down the corridor and stepped into the compartment that James and Sirius had just waltzed inside. “Pete, Remus, good to see you!”  
Harry’s eyes immediately flickered over to the mousy haired boy that was Peter Pettigrew: his parent’s future traitor. He peered up excitedly at James and Sirius. He also, like James, seemed to have grown up since the end of fifth year. He was still pudgier than the other three boys, and he still looked rather boyish, but his face was sharper, more angled. It was difficult to look at this innocent appearing boy and imagine he would become one of Voldemort’s most loyal followers.   
Harry turned his head to see a young Remus Lupin lounging on the other side of the compartment, lying on his back with a book in hand, lifting his head to look at James and Sirius. His limbs were long and lanky, and he had slight dark circles under his eyes. Harry stepped closer and was able to make out the tiny silver scars and freckles that dotted his cheeks. He still lacked the long scar slashing across his nose and lips, and Harry found himself wondering exactly when Remus received that mark.  
Sirius strutted over to Remus’ bench and plopped himself right beside his friend’s head, snatching the book out of his hands. “So Moony, how was the last few weeks of your summer?” Sirius addressed Remus. He thumbed through the book with a disgusted look. “Didn’t spend too much time cooped up inside a library, did you?”  
Remus grabbed the book back with a grin, his fingers brushing against Sirius’.  
“There’s no such thing as spending too much time inside a library Padfoot,” he retorted, dog-earing the page he was on.  
“I’d beg to differ,” James chimed in from the other bench, where he sat comfortably beside Peter, with an arm wrapped around his shorter friend.   
“Well of course you would,” Remus said pointedly. He sat up to face Sirius and the rest of his friends. Even sitting down, his height was impressive. “My summer was lovely. Didn’t spend all that much time at the library but I did find a new bookshop. Found a new favorite book as well.” He patted the front cover of the book in his hands. “It’s called the Grapes of Wrath and it’s about this family that-”  
“Wormtail, what’d you get up to?” James interrupted, talking to Peter. Remus rolled his eyes.   
“Sorry Remus,” said Sirius, feigning sympathy. “It’s not that we don’t want to hear about your new book. It’s just that, well-”  
“We don’t want to hear about your new book,” James finished. The two black haired boys smiled at each other and nodded. They really did remind Harry of two brothers.   
“Exactly,” Sirius agreed. Remus chuckled and lowered himself back so he was laying down once again; this time, his head was comfortably settled in Sirius’ lap.   
“My summer was great!” Peter piped up excitedly. “I went to France with my family and there was this muggle girl at the local cafe-”  
“You finally get some tail Pete?” Sirius implored, raising an eyebrow. Peter blushed at the suggestion.   
“Well, er-no. Not exactly. She did call me cute, but then I sort of… forgot how to speak and everything came out wrong and I think I ended up calling her a goose.”  
“How exactly did that happen?” Remus laughed from Sirius’ lap.   
“I was trying to compare her to a swan, but I couldn’t remember the animal so I sort of panicked and thought that goose was close enough.” Peter shrugged.   
“Tough luck Petey.” James pulled Peter into a headlock and ruffled his hair. “But trust me, as soon as you figure out how to actually talk to them without embarrassing yourself, the girls will be all over you.”  
“Do you really think so?” Peter stared up at James hopefully.  
“I do. In fact,” James stood as if he were about to make a grand statement. “I’m as sure of the fact that girls will soon come flocking your way as I am that Lily Evans will wake up one day soon and realize that I, James Potter, am the man of her dreams.”  
“So, in that case, you know it’ll never happen?” Remus asked playfully. Him and Sirius shared a high five as James pointed his finger at him.   
“Just you wait Moony, one of these days Evans will realize she’s madly in love with me.”  
“Fat chance, Potter.” Harry and the four boys whipped around to see a green-eyed, red-headed, prefect leaning up against the doorframe. There stood Lily Evans, Harry’s mother. While James still looked a bit like a boy, Lily looked exactly like Harry had seen in pictures of her. She was all grown up. Her eyes landed on Remus and she smiled. “How was your summer Remus?”  
“Quite lovely. I started reading Grapes of Wrath. You?”   
“My summer was about as good as to be expected.” She flipped a lock of red hair over her shoulder and stepped inside the compartment. James’ eyes followed her and he seemed almost entranced.“I loved that book. Don’t you just think that John Steinbeck perfectly captured the essence of the American-”  
“As much as Moony and Prongs here would love to hear you prattle on all day about American literature, I do in fact have better things to do,” Sirius spoke coolly, regarding Lily with a bored disposition. Harry glanced between the two, wondering what could have caused such hostility.  
“Black,” she spat, eyes fiercely locked on Sirius.   
“Evans,” he regarded her with equal venom.   
“Anyway,” She turned her gaze away from Sirius and back onto Remus. “I actually came by to let you know that there’ll be no prefect meeting on the train. Apparently Fern Ginsby gets motion sickness so she’d rather have the meeting tonight before the sorting ceremony.”  
“Thanks.” Remus nodded at Lily and smiled.   
“It was good to see you.” She started out the door before turning around. “Well, at least one of you.”  
Lily left the compartment and shut the door behind her. As soon as she did, James groaned and Remus turned his attention to his book.   
“She didn’t even look at me!” He covered his face in his hands and lowered himself to sit next to Peter once again.   
“Sorry mate,” Peter said as he patted James on the back.   
“Yeah, she only had eyes for Moony.” Sirius waggled his eyebrows and smirked at James. The messy haired boy peered up from his hands at Remus.   
“Oi, Remus?” His brows were furrowed as if he wanted to ask an important question.   
‘Yeah Prongs?” Remus looked up from his novel. Harry noticed that young Remus Lupin always had a playful energy behind his eyes, whether he was joking around or not.  
“Do you like Evans?”   
“Yeah,” Remus chuckled. “We’re friends. It’d be awfully odd if I didn’t like her, don’t you think?”  
“No, no, no,” said James, shaking his head. “What I mean is, do you fancy her?”  
Now all the boys were looking curiously at Remus.   
“Not since fourth year,” he mumbled under his breath, averting his eyes into his book. No one except for Harry and Sirius heard him, but unfortunately for him, Sirius began to shout.   
“What do you mean ‘not since fourth year!’” Sirius stole Remus’ book and looked down at him.   
“What?!” James and Peter yelled in unison.   
“I-er… well…” Remus trailed off, his face growing redder by the minute.   
“You fancied Evans?” James stood up again.   
“Only for a few months,” Remus said defensively. He was now sitting up on the bench, reaching out for the book Sirius had stolen.   
“Why didn’t you tell me?” James whined.  
“Because you were, and still are, in love with her, and I figured you’d try to hex me if you knew I fancied her as well!”   
James didn’t speak for a moment while he contemplated Remus’ words.   
“You’re probably right,” he begrudgingly admitted. “But still!” He sat back down and crossed his arms over his chest.  
“So you never told her?” Peter piped up as he patted James on the back.   
“No, of course not.” Remus shook his head. “I couldn’t do that to James.”  
The three boys stared at their werewolf friend in awe.   
“Wow, James,” Sirius addressed his messy-haired friend. “You’re lucky Moony here is such a loyal friend. Otherwise, you’d really have no shot at Evans.”   
“Prongs already has zero shot at Evans,” Remus corrected. “And even if I had told her back then, it’s not like anything would’ve come of it. Now will you give me back my book?”  
“What do you mean?” Sirius held the book even further out of Remus’ grasp until the werewolf smirked and leaned back in his seat.  
“I doubt Lily would’ve ever felt the same way about me,” He cleared his throat. “I’m a gangly, scar-faced, bookworm werewolf; not exactly a prize catch.” Remus’ smile didn’t fall while he spoke ill of himself, if anything, it widened.   
“How dare you?” Sirius pointed an accusing finger at Remus. “That’s my Moony you’re talking about, and I’ll have you know that he is quite the catch, thank you very much.” The taller boy’s eyes glinted as he leaned closer to Sirius, still smiling.   
“Oh yeah, how so?”  
“First of all, you’re not gangly: you’re tall. In fact, you’re the tallest boy in our year, which is actually a plus when it comes to the ladies. Second of all, these scars,” Sirius jabbed a finger in Remus’ face. “Are not ugly. If anything, they make you look ruggishly manly. Third, your obsession with libraries and book smell may be slightly concerning, but it’s also endearing in its own right. And fourthly,” Sirius paused to take a breath. “The whole werewolf thing only makes you seem dangerous. Girls love that.” He shrugged   
“I highly doubt that.” Remus sighed at Sirius’ ridiculousness.   
“It’s true. I’d know.” He shot Remus a knowing look. “After all, I’m dangerous and the ladies love me.” At this, the brown haired boy actually laughed.   
“Pads,” Remus chuckled. “You are about as dangerous as a teddy bear.”  
The other boys laughed at this while Sirius glowered. After a few minutes, the marauders had launched into a debate over Quidditch, although the debate consisted mostly of James saying anything, Peter heartily agreeing, Sirius disagreeing, and Remus looking up from his book to chime in with some sarcastic remark about how ‘interesting’ the sport was. James was sprawled over the bench, taking up as much room as possible while Peter sat huddled by the window. Remus had once again nestled his head in Sirius’ lap, and the grey-eyed boy was absentmindedly running his fingers through his friend’s tawny hair.   
By now, Harry had worked out that he was somehow inside Sirius’ memory, much like Dumbledore’s pensieve or Snape’s thoughts. He was just considering finding a way to leave when he picked up Remus mummering something to Sirius.   
“Sirius,” Remus lowered his book and Sirius hummed, acknowledging that the taller boy had spoken but not looking down at him, too enthralled in the Quidditch debate. “Sirius.” He finally looked at Remus.   
“Yes Moony?” he asked in a low tone, not wanting to distract from James and Peter.   
“Are you alright?” Remus’ amber eyes were wide and swimming with some undiseranable emotion.   
“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” Sirius turned to look back at his other friends but Remus reached up his hand and gently brushed the side of Sirius’ face, gesturing for Sirius to look at him.   
“I mean,” Remus’ hand dropped and found Sirius’. “After this summer, running away from home, moving in with James, are you okay?”  
Sirius didn’t answer for a moment, just letting his fingers brush over Remus’. Harry felt a blush creeping up his cheeks, as if this was something he wasn’t supposed to see. It was too private, too intimate.   
“That place was never really home.” Sirius sighed after a moment. “James’ house, Hogwarts, you lot: that’s what my home is. Honestly, I’m the best I’ve ever been. I’m finally free. I’m happy.”  
“I’m glad.”   
With that, the memory faded and swirled out of focus. When the world stopped spinning, Harry was back in his own bed, the diary in hand. He closed the book, wary of falling into another vision of the past, and shoved it under his bed.   
How could Harry be transported into Sirius’ memory through a diary? Was that possible? It looked as if Harry would have to pay Headmistress McGonagall a visit in the morning.


	8. The Wrong Choice

Chapter Eight

“-and then when I came to I was back in bed with the diary.” Harry breathed after what felt like an eternity of talking.   
It was the next day and Harry had rushed straight to McGonagall’s office once classes were finished. Harry sat rather uncomfortably in his chair, still not used to the change in decor since Dumbledore was no longer Headmaster. Well, really, not much about the room had changed at all, except for the portrait of Albus Dumbledore himself that hung directly above McGonagall’s desk. He stared down at Harry over his half-moon spectacles with a knowing smile.   
“Do you have this diary with you?” McGonagall regarded Harry over her glasses, an unreadable expression taking over her face.   
“Yes, right here.” Harry reached into his bag and pulled out the worn, black, leather-bound book. It landed with a thunk on Professor McGonagall’s desk. She tentatively ran her hand over the cover. “Do you think it’s dangerous?”  
“That’s what I’d like to determine, Mr. Potter.” Cautiously, she picked up the diary and placed it directly in front of her. Her wand whipped out of her robes and she began muttering as her wand hovered over the book, seeming to scan it for Dark Magic.   
“How long will you need to keep it for, Professor?” Harry ran a hand through his hair. He really hoped McGonagall’s search wouldn’t take too long; he was eager to learn more about his godfather.   
“If my suspicions are correct,” she said, her eyes still fixed on the diary. “This shouldn’t take more than a few minutes.”  
Harry sat in silence as McGonagall poured over the book. He certainly felt as though it had been longer than a few minutes, and concern slowly built up in him.   
“But what about Tom Riddle’s diary?” Harry couldn’t keep his mouth shut any longer. When McGonagall did little more than peer at Harry above the book, he continued. “His diary showed me memories of the past, except it used those memories to twist the truth, and it ended up being a horcrux!”  
“Are you insinuating that this diary is Sirius Black’s horcrux?” McGonagall raised an eyebrow at Harry.   
“No, no, no.” He shook his head. There was no way Sirius would ever commit the horrible act necessary to create a horcrux. “But what if this diary is a fake, and someone is just using it to get to me?”  
McGonagall put her wand down and looked up at Harry.   
“Well fortunately, that is not the case.” She passed the book back to Harry, who handled the diary with extreme care. “It is as I suspected. You are well versed in Pensieves Mr. Potter?”  
Harry nodded. His experience with Pensieves was extensive, given Dumbledore’s “lessons” during sixth year and his view into Snape’s past.   
“Well a Pensieve is merely a place to view memories. For most wizards and witches, that usually entails a sort of dish where memories can be dumped and seen. However,” She paused. “Not all Pensieves are the same. Memories can be stored and seen in a variety of ways. It seems as if Sirius Black’s preferred method was through his diary.”  
“Professor,” Harry’s brow crinkled. “Are you saying that that diary is a Pensieve?”  
“Of sorts,” she confirmed. “Sirius used his memories as ink, and made it so those who read the pages could see into his memories.” McGonagall stood and began to mutter under her breath. “Talented wizard. Insufferable student, but talented wizard.”  
“So, it’s safe to read?”   
“Yes, I should think so Mr. Potter,” McGonagall said. “As long as you are careful where you read. It wouldn’t be wise to get sucked up in a memory in the middle of class.”  
“Thank you Professor.” Harry stood up and swung his bag over his shoulder. He raced out the door, eager to meet his friends and tell them all about Sirius’ diary.   
He caught up with Hermione in the hallway. She was on her way to the Great Hall for dinner and Harry ran to reach her side.   
“Hermione!” She turned and Harry expected to see a smile on her face, but instead he was greeted with a tight-lipped expression of concern.  
“Where have you been?” she implored. “Ron and I went off to study,” Harry bit back a smirk. By ‘study,’ he knew Hermione meant that she went off to study and Ron probably sat by her side and complained about his homework the entire time. “And we were going to ask you to come with us, but you were already gone before we could say anything.”  
“Yeah, well, I had to go see Professor McGonagall because-”   
“Malfoy’s bullying that first year again.” Ron interrupted as he fell in step beside Harry and Hermione. He had stepped out of Flitwick’s classroom, textbook in hand. He obviously hadn’t heard Harry and Hermione’s conversation, but honestly, Harry was far more interested in Malfoy’s misdemeanors than telling his friends about his visit with the Headmistress.   
“Really?” Harry said. Hermione sighed, wanting to know what Harry had been doing in McGonagall’s office, but let the conversation continue.   
“Yeah, I saw him in the hall.” Ron’s face contorted as if the thought of even seeing Malfoy was disgusting. “She came up to him and before she could even say anything he was screaming at her to go away.”  
“Well Hermione, I guess it’s time to go to McGonagall now.” Harry turned towards Hermione, who wore a thoughtful expression.  
“Or you could always take matters into your own hands,” Ron suggested. “Give him a nice-”  
“I’m not going to punch him Ronald!” Hermione shot daggers at Ron. She crossed her arms over her chest and frowned.   
“Fine,” Ron backed off, slightly taken aback by Hermione’s sudden reaction. “But you are going to the Headmistress right?” Hermione opened her mouth, then closed it. Her eyes flitted between Ron and Harry. “Right?”  
“It’s complicated,” she finally said. She adjusted the strap of her bad, which had started to fall off her shoulder.   
“What is?” Harry chimed in. Him and Ron shared a puzzled glance. What could possibly be complicated about Hermione reporting Malfoy to McGonagall? Especially when the Slytherin was tormenting innocent first years?  
“Malfoy and Joplin,” she said like it was obvious.  
“Who’s Joplin?” Ron looked more confused than ever. Hermione rolled her eyes and sighed.   
“The first year, Ronald,” she explained. Ron looked aside, slightly embarrassed that he hadn’t known that. Harry jumped in.   
“How’s it complicated?” Hermione stopped suddenly and glanced around before turning and walking into a deserted corridor, beckoning for her friends to follow her. Once they were out of earshot of the other students, she began to speak.   
“You know how I said I’d talk to Malfoy after the Feast?” She looked at Harry and Ron.  
“Yeah.” Ron nodded affirmatively.  
“Well I did, and he said that the reason he told her off was because she was asking him if Voldemort could ever return.” She paused, considering her words. “Like she wanted him to return.”  
“Since when do we trust what Malfoy says?” Ron questioned defensively. Out of the three of them, Ron had always seemed to hate Malfoy the most.   
“I didn’t, at first.” Hermione assured him, but then her expression darkened. “But then I talked to Ambrose. He told me that his sister’s always been sort of… dark. Apparently she was a pretty big fan of the idea of a more ‘exclusive’ education for purebloods.”  
“Ambrose said that?” Harry asked. A few remaining Death Eaters was one thing, but eleven year old Voldemort fans? That was a whole new level of disturbing.  
“But that still doesn’t make any sense. Why would Malfoy be mad at Joplin for supporting Voldemort? He was a Death Eater,” Ron pointed out.  
“Not sure. I didn’t ask.” Hermione shrugged. She turned her attention towards Harry. “Anyway, Harry, why were you in McGonagall’s office?”  
“Did you get in trouble?” Ron asked worriedly. “You know, Ginny’ll kill you if you get anymore detentions, she’s already had to shift so much of the schedule around the detentions you already have.”  
“No, nothing like that.” Harry shook his head. “I had to talk to her about something.”  
“What?” Ron and Hermione said in unison.   
“You know how Andromeda is cleaning up Grimmauld Place?” He glanced between his friends. They nodded. “Well, she found something and sent it to me. It’s Sirius’ diary, I think from his sixth year at Hogwarts.”  
“Sirius kept a diary?” Ron asked.  
“Yeah,” Harry nodded. “But it’s not just a diary.” He went on, describing the memory he saw in Sirius’ diary and his subsequent visit to McGonagall’s office.   
“And she’s sure it’s safe?” Hermione questioned after Harry had finished. She looked concerned so Harry attempted to reassure her.   
“She’s sure. It’s just a sort of Pensieve, no Dark Magic whatsoever.”  
“That’s bloody brilliant!” exclaimed Ron. He threw his arm around Harry’s shoulder and led the group out of their deserted corridor and back on route to the Great Hall. “I reckon Sirius was wicked in school!”  
“Yeah, I bet he was.”  
The three of them ate dinner, and Ron and Hermione bid their goodbyes when Harry left them for detention after.   
“Make sure to give Malfoy hell!” Ron shouted after Harry. He smiled and continued down to the Potions classroom. Sure enough, when he arrived, there was Malfoy, waiting for Slughorn, as smug as ever.   
“Potter.”   
“Malfoy.” Harry stood on the opposite end of the classroom, making a point of putting as much distance between them as possible. They stood like this, in unbearably uncomfortable silence, for a few minutes until Slughorn strode into the room.   
“Boys,” he greeted them jovially and marched over to his desk. “You’ll be continuing your work in the Potions cabinet. I’ll be back at eleven o’clock to fetch you.” He passed Malfoy the keys to the Potions cabinet and waltzed back out of the room, attempting a whistle while he did so.   
“He seems like he’s in a good mood,” Harry commented off-handedly.   
“Does it look like I care?” Malfoy muttered. He swaggered over to the cabinet and unlocked it, grabbing a handful of vials and bringing them to his side of the classroom. Although it had never been officially stated, Malfoy seemed to have claimed the left side of the classroom for his own, leaving Harry the right. Harry made his way over to the cabinet and snatched a few glasses. As he walked over to the right side of the room, he found himself wondering about Malfoy’s encounter with Joplin. Should he ask him about it?  
He glanced over at Malfoy, who had already settled into his desk and began dusting his vials. The Slytherin was clearly in no mood to talk. So Harry worked in silence for a few minutes, letting tension fill the room.   
Eventually, the silence became too much and Harry finally snapped.   
“I heard you shouted at Joplin today in the halls.” Malfoy didn’t even glance up from his work. He continued to polish a rather oddly shaped beaker with no acknowledgement that Harry had opened his mouth.   
“And?” Malfoy tilted his head in Harry’s direction, the light in the room reflecting off his pale blonde hair.   
“Why?” Harry pressed. When the Slytherin didn’t immediately respond, Harry began to drum his fingers against the desk.   
“Granger didn’t tell you?” he finally answered, although it wasn’t much of an answer.   
“She did, but I still don’t understand.” Malfoy cocked his head at Harry. Harry continued. “You were a Death Eater. You supported Voldemort, you tried to kill Dumble-”  
“Do you think I had a choice?” Malfoy spat, interrupting. What had been a previously bored expression was now replaced by pure rage. “Do you think I wanted to be a Death Eater? Do you think I wanted to help him infiltrate Hogwarts or slaughter Muggleborns?” He took a breath and turned his burning eyes away from Harry. “I admit I’ve acted like a bigoted prick in the past but I never actually meant any of the rubbish I said. And I certainly don’t support Muggle genocide.” He curled in on himself slightly, his voice now deflated. “I didn’t have a choice.” Harry stayed silent for a moment, taking in everything that Malfoy just admitted.   
“You always have a choice, Malfoy.”  
“Right.” Malfoy purred sarcastically. He chuckled. “I suppose I did have a choice. I could either serve the Dark Lord or let him kill me and my family.”   
Harry lowered his eyes. He had forgotten that Voldemort not only threatened Malfoy’s life, but also his parents’.   
“Fear is a powerful motivator, Potter.” Malfoy stated darkly. His head whipped up at Harry. “Though I guess you wouldn’t understand that.”  
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Harry asked defensively.   
“It means that you’re a Gryffindor.” The blonde boy rolled his eyes and scoffed. “Actually no, you’re the bloody King of the Gryffindors! The bravest of the brave, the courageous of heart. I doubt you even know what the word fear means.” He spat his last words. Harry’s jaw dropped, in awe of Malfoy’s ignorance.   
“Seriously?” Harry exclaimed incredulously. “You don’t think I was afraid when Voldemort came back? Or when Bellatrix was torturing Hermione? Or when I walked into the forest to face Voldemort knowing I was going to die?” At some point while he had been talking, Harry stood out of his seat. His voice shook when he spoke. “Bravery isn’t the absence of fear Malfoy, it’s doing what’s right in spite of being afraid.”  
“So you’re telling me that if your parents were alive, if you were in my position, you’d let them die?” Malfoy retorted. Harry recoiled at the mention of his parents, that was a line that even Malfoy usually knew not to cross.  
Harry sat for a moment, imagining if his parents were alive, if he was the one Voldemort recruited to be a Death Eater, if Voldemort had threatened his family, what would he have done? Malfoy took Harry’s silence to be an answer.  
“That’s what I thought.” Malfoy said. He lowered his voice. “You are right. I did have a choice. I made a decision. A decision that I knew I would regret for the rest of my life. I may have made the wrong choice, but I couldn’t let my family die. No matter how many terrible things they’ve done, they’re still my parents.” His silver eyes burned and Harry found himself unable to make eye contact. He let silence stretch between them until Malfoy eventually lowered his gaze and returned to his work, a bit more aggressively than before.   
The rest of the evening passed in uneasy quiet.


	9. Sirius 'Drama Queen' Black

Chapter Nine

When Harry finally returned to Gryffindor tower that night, he was relieved to find that Hermione and Ron were not busy in the common room. Either the two of them had already gone off to bed, or they had found alternate locations for their ‘activities.’   
Harry trudged up to the dormitories, flinging his bag on the bed and landing with a soft thump on his pillow. Suddenly, he remembered that he meant to write Andromeda back that morning, and still hadn’t done so. Glancing around the room, he determined that the other boys were all asleep. He quietly gathered a quill, his wand, some parchment, and Sirius’ diary and tip-toed out of the room. He went back down to the common room, knowing that he’d need light to write by and lumos would probably disturb his roommates' slumber.   
Settling into the couch, he pulled out his quill and began to write.   
Dear Andromeda (and Teddy),  
It’s great to hear from you. I hope Teddy’s hair is back to blue, I wouldn’t want Teddy to be ‘green.’ It’s an interesting theory; I bet if Hermione knew about it, she’d probably be eager to test it out. She would likely be able to figure out what pink and purple mean.   
As for winter holiday, there’s no place I’d rather spend it. I can’t wait to be there for Teddy’s first Christmas and I’ll be sure to get him a fantastic present. I’ll ask Hermione and Ron about the Holidays as well, of course, but I do think they’ll probably want to spend that time with their families.   
Thank you for sending me Sirius’ diary. So far, there’s no deep wisdom inside, but I did discover that he was using the book as a kind of Pensieve to store his memories. So, really, I’m not just reading about Sirius’ experiences at Hogwarts: I’m actually living through them myself!  
I’ll try to write as much as I can, but it’s quite a busy year. Between preparing for the N.E.W.Ts, practicing for Quidditch, and serving detention, I’m barely finding the time to eat and sleep.   
Right, you’re probably wondering about the detention thing. See, I used this potions book in my sixth year that had some notes and tips on how to brew potions better: it turns out that it was actually Snape’s old potions textbook. But, I didn’t report the book or turn it in to any Professors and Slughorn found out and gave me detention for the rest of term. It’s not bad; all I have to do is dust potions vials, but for some reason Malfoy is in detention as well, which is quite awful.   
I’ll try to write soon. Miss you both.   
Love,   
Harry  
He finished up the letter and placed his quill down. Harry stood up and began to make his way to the entrance to Gryffindor tower when he realized it was after curfew and the owlery was closed. Folding the letter, he stuck it inside his pocket and plopped himself back down on the couch. He reached for Sirius’ diary, sure that no one else was in the room, and flipped to the page he left on last time.   
Remus admitted that he used to have a crush on Evans in fourth year on the ride to Hogwarts. This, of course, upset James and he sulked for a bit before Peter distracted him with Quidditch, which is basically the only thing that could ever possibly distract James from Evans.   
I don’t like that Remus used to fancy her. I mean, she’s an insufferable prick and it’s bad enough that James is in love with her, she doesn’t deserve Moony’s attention as well.   
Anyway, the feast and sorting was a bore, as usual. But we ran into Snivellus on our way into the Great Hall…   
The room began to spin and blur until Harry found himself standing in a hallway outside the Great Hall. Sounds of chatter and excitement filled the air around him, but the hallway was dark and seemingly empty, until Harry spun around and came face to face with a young Severus Snape. Even at age sixteen, his sharp, hooked nose and greasy black hair resulted in a sharp intake of breath from Harry. Just because he now knew that Snape was always on Dumbledore’s side doesn’t mean that Harry didn’t find him intimidating.   
Footsteps echoed in the corridor as four figures made their way towards him and Snape. They finally came close enough for Harry to discern them as James, Peter, Sirius, and Remus. They stopped dead in their tracks when they spotted Snape. A moment of tense silence passed before James finally spoke.   
“Severus.” He nodded cordially at the Slytherin. In fact, he was the only one of the four Mauradors who officially greeted Snape. Peter glanced between James and Severus, almost as if James held all the answers in the universe. He trembled slightly and Harry found himself wondering why Peter Pettigrew was ever placed in Gryffindor. Sirius, however, was focusing all his attention on the greasy-haired boy. His mouth was stuck in a menacing scowl and his nostrils flared in rage. Behind his eyes, a threatening fire seemed to burn.   
Remus didn’t dare to look at Snape at all. He shuffled his feet and lowered his gaze to the ground. His expression was unreadable to Harry. It seemed as though he was afraid? Guilty? Ashamed? None of these emotions made any sense to Harry. Why would Remus be ashamed when looking at Snape?  
Cautiously, Remus’ eyes flitted up towards Snape’s face. His gaze remained there for less than a second before Snape snapped.   
“What are you looking at, you dirty werewolf?” he growled. Remus recoiled at the words, swallowing and avoiding Snape’s eyes once again.   
A lightbulb lit inside Harry’s head. This must’ve been after Sirius’ horrible prank with Snape: when Sirius revealed Remus’ location on a full moon and Severus would’ve been injured or killed if it weren’t for his dad’s rescue. That’s why Remus was so afraid; Snape knew his secret.  
“Shut your goddamn mouth Snivellus,” Sirius hissed, his already threatening expression darkening even further.   
“Or what?” Snape immediately retorted, sharp features twisted into a sneer. “You’ve already tried to kill me once, are you going to try again?”  
“Yeah, I just might.” Sirius’ frown mutated into a dark smile, his teeth bared and eyes flashing. “Except this time, I’ll do it with my bare hands to make sure I get the job done.” Snape’s face paled slightly at the threat, but he continued to speak anyway.  
“Are you always so protective over your boyfriend?” He jeered, glancing over at Remus, who’s eyebrows raised in confusion. Sirius’ expression went completely blank and he slowly turned to face his brunette friend.  
“My dear Moony,” Sirius greeted.  
“Padfoot?” Remus said, regarding his shorter friend with a wary expression. Harry got the impression that Sirius was often up to no good, and that Remus was very aware of this.   
“I do believe we’ve been discovered,” he announced. James and Peter shared a confused look, and even Snape couldn’t help a slight furrow in his brow.  
“Whatever do you mean?” Remus suddenly began to smile, as if he had caught onto some inside joke. Harry found himself just as puzzled as the other three boys who also seemed to have no idea of what was happening.  
“Snivellus has revealed our darkest truth: that we, Padfoot and Moony,” Sirius paused for dramatic effect, taking in a deep breath before continuing. “Are indeed lovers!” Peter gasped and Snape took a bewildered step backwards, but James and Harry finally seemed to understand what Sirius was doing and both bit back a laugh.   
“Woe is me!” Remus made no effort to make his delivery as convincing as Sirius. Clearly, the acting chops in the group belonged solely to Sirius. “He now knows both my deepest secrets: that I am, in fact,” He risked a glance at Snape and winked. “A big, gay, werewolf.” Remus then smiled. Sirius didn’t return it; his expression remained as distraught as ever.   
“There is only one thing left to do now my Moonykins.” Sirius grabbed Remus by his collar in feigned desperation. Remus, being much taller than Sirius, had to lean down slightly to look his friend in the eye.   
“What is that, my dearest Padfoot?” He rolled his eyes.   
“Ravish me darling!”  
With that, Sirius pulled Remus into his arms and dipped him downwards. Snape watched in horror as Sirius proceeded to place a hand over Remus’ mouth and to mash his face against the taller boy’s, although Sirius’ dark curtain of black hair shielded what was actually happening underneath. James barked in laughter and Peter finally seemed to catch onto the joke. The greasy-haired Slytherin, however, stumbled backwards out of the hallway, eyes widening more than Harry thought possible before he turned tail and ran. Remus shoved Sirius away from him, laughing and wiping his mouth.   
“I think you may have overdone it just a bit with the whole ‘ravish me’ line, yeah?” Remus commented once the four marauders had finished laughing. He raised an eyebrow at Sirius.  
“What can I say? I have a flair for the dramatic.” Sirius flipped his hair over his shoulder and gave Remus a smouldering wink. Remus, in turn, rolled his eyes at him.   
“If by ‘flair for the dramatic’ you mean you’re a drama queen, then yes.”  
“I am not a drama queen!” Sirius protested as the group started to walk towards the Great Hall.   
“Yes you are.” The other three boys uttered in unison, struggling to keep straight faces.   
The memory whirled out of focus until Harry was once again sat on the couch in Gryffindor Tower by the fireplace. He couldn’t wipe the smile from his face at the thought of Sirius being so over the top.   
After shutting the diary and gathering his things, Harry set back up the stairs to the dormitories for a good night’s rest.


	10. Why is Malfoy in Detention?

Chapter Ten

Light streamed in from the window, the end of summer’s blaze still glowing. Harry sat up in his bed, rubbing his eyes, and glanced around the room to see if any of the other boys were awake. They weren’t. He laid back down, trying to remind himself of that night’s dream.   
It wasn’t like any of the others he had. The others were nightmares, terrifying reminders of his past and those he had lost. This was different. It was happy and warm, yet, at the same time, left Harry feeling empty and longing for something he couldn’t quite reach.   
All he could remember was a flash of pearly white teeth and the sound of laughter echoing through a hallway.   
Sure that the others in his room were asleep, Harry reached under his bed for Sirius’ diary and thumbed to the next entry.   
September 14th, 1976  
Dear not-diary,   
I thought I should specify that THIS IS NOT A DIARY because James caught me writing in it yesterday evening. James, if you’re reading this, you’re adopted and Lily Evans will never love you.   
Just kidding. Well, about the adopted part. Also, GET OUT OF MY THINGS!  
Anyway, Moony had his first ‘time of the month’ of the year. He let me stay for the transformation this time. Well, more like I came with him to the Shrieking Shack and refused to leave and he didn’t really have the energy to fight with me, but still.   
Everything he described was true; it was horrific. It’s really quite awful how terrible it is for him, and how fun it is for the rest of us. There’s nothing quite like racing through the Forbidden Forest, wind running through your fur…   
Harry braced himself for the familiar pull of the memory and landed solidly on his feet. Glancing around, he determined he was inside the Shrieking Shack. The old, rickety house was both in better and worse shape than when Harry was here his third year.   
The house itself seemed much sturdier and less likely to crumble at any moment. In fact, certain aspects of the place were actually homey. There was a tan couch pushed against one wall and a clearly new rug covering the wooden floor.   
In many other ways, however, the house looked significantly worse. For one, reddish brown stains that looked eerily similar to dried blood splattered the walls, and the room reeked of pain. The couch, which admittedly was probably very nice-looking when it first arrived, had numerous gashes in it, revealing the white stuffing inside.   
Harry stopped observing the room when he heard an anguished cry from upstairs. He rushed up to the second story, briefly forgetting that this was a memory and there was nothing he could do to help.   
What he stumbled across once he reached the upstairs bedroom was not quite what he expected.   
Remus sat hunched in the corner, his face twisted in terrible pain as he bit his lip and tried to refrain from screaming. A creak across the room caused Harry to whip around and see Sirius taking a tentative step towards his friend.   
“Stay away!” Remus shouted, although his voice was much deeper and aggressive than normal.   
“No.” Sirius moved swiftly across the room and wrapped his arms around his taller friend. Remus struggled at first, but he was clearly drained and weak, and he gave up after only a few moments.   
“I’ll hurt you,” he choked out as a tear slipped onto his face. Despite his protests, he buried his face in Sirius’ neck and held onto him tightly.   
“Animagus, Moony. As soon as you start to turn, I’ll become Padfoot and you won’t hurt me.” Sirius adjusted and held Remus’ face firmly in front of him between his hands. He used his thumb to wipe away the tear that tracked down his face. “I’m not leaving.”  
At this, Remus clung onto Sirius like his life depended on it and sobs began to wrack his body.   
“Hurts… so much,” he gasped.   
“I know,” Sirius murmured, his voice low as he stroked Remus’ hair. “I know.”  
“It’s starting,” Remus whispered, shoving Sirius away.   
Sure enough, Harry watched as the scared, hurting boy in front of him slowly mutated into a petrifying monster. It was a transformation Harry had seen before, but he was too frightened then to really realize exactly what it was that Remus went through.   
A horrible crack filled the room; a sound that Harry could only presume was the sound of Remus’ bones breaking and reforming. Screams of agony escaped Remus’ mouth and Harry wanted more than anything to just put an end to the process.   
“Oh God!” Remus’ shouts echoed inside the small room. Hair started to sprout all over Remus’ body and he shrieked as his hands twisted into gnarled claws. “Just make it stop! Let me die!”  
“I’m so sorry Remus.” Sirius stood across the room, his face pale and knuckles white. His voice carried to where Harry stood, but he was sure that Remus was too far in his own world of pain to hear him.   
Finally, Remus’ face elongated into a large, grey snout, and the transformation was complete. The wolf let out a deafening howl that left a ringing in Harry’s ears. Harry followed the wolf’s gaze across the room to where Sirius had previously been standing. Instead, there was a large, shaggy, black dog sitting in his place.   
The dog padded across the room towards the wolf, ignoring its soft growls. He apprehensively sniffed at the wolf, and the growling stopped. Slowly, but surely, the two canines seemed to warm up to each other, to the point where, when a tall, nimble stag and a scurrying rat arrived in the room, the dog and the wolf were rolling around on the floor, engaged in a play fight.   
The wolf caught sight of the other two animals and stiffened. He only relaxed when the dog crossed the room and greeted the other two as friends. The group seemed to exchange some kind of communication and soon, the wolf was bounding around the room, as happy as ever. Somehow, even a werewolf was significantly less terrifying when behaving like an overexcited puppy.   
The group made its way downstairs, and Harry followed at a distance. He knew it wasn’t possible, but he had an unsettling feeling that the wolf would somehow be able to sniff him out, even in a memory.   
The dog ushered the group out of the door to the Shrieking Shack, one by one, until they were all standing outside next to the forest, lit only by the light of the full moon. Harry searched for the rat amongst the grass, and began to panic when he couldn’t find the small creature. When he glanced up, he spotted little Wormtail balanced on the stag’s back; Harry nearly laughed at the sight.   
The stag started towards the forest, only briefly turning around and beckoning for the rest of the group to follow. They disappeared amongst the brush as the world around Harry blurred and shifted until he was sitting back in his bed, Sirius’ diary in hand.   
Harry shoved the book back under his bed and got up and stretched. Before long, the other eighth year Gryffindor boys were awake and getting ready for the day. The only boy who was still asleep was Ron, so Harry took it upon himself to wake his ginger friend.   
“Ron,” Harry said, shaking Ron. “Ron.”   
The taller boy rolled over in his bed and groaned, determined to stay asleep for as long as possible. Harry smiled as he thought up a new tactic.   
“Weasley is our king,” Harry began to sing. Seamus peered over at Ron’s sleeping figure and joined Harry’s song once he figured out what was going on.   
“Wealsey is our king,” they sang together. Ron clasped his hands over his ears as Dean and Neville joined in.   
“He didn’t let the Quaffle in, Weasley is our king!” The song finished with a series of cheers and laughter from the boys. Ron rolled over to face them and grumbled.   
“I hate all of you.”  
“Love you too Weasley!” Seamus blew Ron a kiss and bounded out of the room with Dean, still laughing.   
“Come on Ron, you’ve got to get up. You’ll miss morning classes.” Harry grabbed Ron’s arm and tried to yank him out of bed to no avail.   
“Let me miss ‘em. Tired.” His voice was muffled by his pillow, which he threw over his face in frustration.   
“It’s only the fourth week of classes Ron. At least wait until week five before you start ditching.”   
“You know, you’re starting to sound a lot like Hermione,” Ron said, grinning.   
“That’s probably a good thing; she’s got more sense than both of us combined.” Harry smiled back as Ron finally sat up and pulled his sheets off.   
“True.” He stood up and started to rummage through his trunk for his clothes. Harry started towards the door, turning around to talk to Ron before he left.   
“I was going to go down to breakfast, do you want me to wait for you?” Ron considered for a moment before waving Harry off.   
“I’m alright mate. You go ahead.”  
With that, Harry headed down to the Gryffindor common room and tried to exit towards the Great Hall, but Pavarti blocked him.   
“Hey Harry,” she said, tucking a strand of shiny black hair behind her ear.   
“Hey Pavarti.” Harry’s stomach grumbled. He really did just want to go down and get some breakfast, but he also didn’t want to be impolite. Luckily, she seemed to get the hint, well, part of the hint, and started walking with him, leading him towards the Great Hall.   
“So is it true that you and Ginny broke up?” Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Of course that’s what she wanted to talk about.   
“Yeah,” He nodded affirmatively. “But we’re still friends. There’s no hard feelings.”  
Parvati smiled a little too wide for Harry’s liking and started to play with the ends of her hair.   
“That’s good. I know when Ron broke up with Lav, she was upset for weeks. But it’s good that you two are still on good terms.” Harry smiled uncomfortably at the mention of Ron and Lavender; that entire relationship was a pure disaster. Parvati suddenly switched topics. “Remember when we went to the Yule Ball together in fourth year?”  
“Yeah…” Harry didn’t like where this was going.   
“Well,” Parvati averted Harry’s gaze as a blush crept up her cheeks. “I had a really good time that night.” Harry glanced at her, confused. From what he remembered of the Yule Ball, Parvati actually hadn’t had a very good time, until she left Harry to go hang out with the boys from Beuxbatons. “And I was wondering if maybe you’d like to do it again sometime?”  
“Go to the Yule Ball together?” Harry knitted his brows together, hoping that if he pretended to be oblivious, her advances would come to a halt. “I don’t think there is a Yule Ball this year.”  
“No, I meant spent time together. You know,” Her eyes flitted over to Harry. “Just the two of us.”  
He sighed. Parvati was really nice, and quite pretty, but he had just never really seen her in any sort of romantic way. Even in fourth year, the only reason he went to the Ball with her was because Cho had rejected him.   
“I’m sorry if I’ve given you the wrong impression Pavarti,” he began gently. “But I’m really not interested in dating anyone right now. It’s just-”  
“Too soon after Ginny?” Parvati finished for him, a smile on her face. She was clearly disappointed, but she did her best to hide it.   
Harry frowned. Her assumption that Harry’s aversion to dating had to do with his recent breakup with Ginny wasn’t at all correct, but she was being so kind about being rejected that he really didn’t have the heart to correct her.   
“Yeah,” he lied.   
“I understand.” She gave Harry a reassuring look and patted him on the shoulder. “Take care of yourself Harry.” They had arrived at the Great Hall, and she spotted Lavender at the end of the Gryffindor table, waving to her excitedly. “I should probably go. Have a nice day.” She resignedly walked over to Lavender, and Harry felt a pang of guilt, knowing that she was probably detailing her rejection to her friend right now.   
He sat down on the bench next to Hermione, who was deep in concentration reading a thick textbook. Piling bacon and eggs onto his plate, he glanced over at what she was reading.   
“What is that Hermione?” The symbols covering the page didn’t even look like they were a part of the English alphabet.   
“Runes. We have an exam today.” She looked up from the page. “Where’s Ron?”  
“He’s still upstairs. He wanted to sleep in and ditch Lark’s class,” Hermione opened her mouth to protest. “But you’ll be proud to know that I got him up and now he’s getting ready.”  
“He’ll miss breakfast if he doesn’t hurry up.”   
Luckily, Ron strode into the room just as breakfast was ending, and managed to swipe a bagel and some sausages away from the table before the three friends headed back up to Gryffindor Tower to grab their school bags.   
They retrieved their bags and made their way into Professor Lark’s classroom, where the blonde-haired professor was half-hazardly sorting through papers on his desk. After nearly a month at Hogwarts, Professor Lark still seemed quite lost and helpless most of the time.   
The rest of the class filed in and he cleared his throat as he addressed the room.   
“Good morning students!”   
“Good morning Professor Lark!” Per usual, Pavarti and Lavendar’s voices were significantly louder than the rest of the class.   
“To start off, er-” he turned around and snatched a piece of parchment off his desk. He glanced over the page before throwing it back and picking up another one. This continued for about a minute before he finally seemed to find what he was looking for. “Ah, here it is. By the end of this week, you will be finished with the mandrake leaf portion of your Animagus diaries, and then you’ll need to move onto documenting the brewing of your Animagus potions!” His eyes darted around the room. “Well, not real potions, obviously, but your theoretical potions. Wouldn’t want you to actually become Animagi now, would we?” He chuckled nervously.   
Harry rolled his eyes. Professor Lark wasn’t a bad teacher by any means; when he knew what he was doing and was confident in it, he was actually a fantastic teacher. He had a vast knowledge of Transfiguration, and his skills were almost up to the level of Professor McGonagall’s. The trouble was that Professor Lark rarely possessed any semblance of self-confidence, often falling into a bundle of nerves whenever he was in front of the class.   
“Moving on,” he cleared his throat, catching Harry’s attention. “Today we will be practicing transforming owls into flower vases. Like so.”   
Professor Lark walked around to the other side of his desk and leaned down. When he came back up, he was holding a large bird cage containing one of Hogwarts’ many messenger owls. He opened the latch on the cage and the bird tiptoed out onto his desk. Before the owl could move any further, he pointed his wand at the creature and muttered an incantation. The owl quickly mutated into an admittedly beautiful vase, with complicated decorative carvings covering its surfaces. Just as quickly as Professor Lark transformed the owl into a flower vase, he turned the bird back to normal, and tucked it away into its cage.   
Lark taught the students the incantation and wand movements, and then proceeded to give each student their own owl to practice on. By the end of class, Hermione and Dean were the only two that managed to complete the transformation, although Harry had managed to make a flower sprout out of the head of his owl.   
The rest of the day passed in a blur of rather uninteresting classes, and before long, Harry found himself in the familiar, yet still tense silence that always haunted detention with Malfoy.   
Slughorn had managed to finish cleaning all the Potions supplies himself, so now Malfoy and Harry were busy grading first years’ potions essays. The only sound in the room was the scratch of quill against parchment, and Harry quickly grew tired of the quiet.   
Malfoy was different ever since the war. Sure, he was still an insufferable git and occasionally threw insults Harry’s way, but he used to go out of his way to irritate the Gryffindor boy. Harry reluctantly admitted that he sort of missed their fights; it was a relief to have someone that he could release all his anger on. Also, Harry had grown accustomed to Malfoy’s antics over the years: fighting with Malfoy was normal, and more than anything, Harry missed feeling normal.   
This was probably why Harry decided to ask Malfoy a question that had been bordering at the edge of his mind for weeks.   
“Malfoy, why are you in detention?” The blonde boy’s head shot up from across the room to glare at Harry. He rolled his eyes before answering with a sneer.   
“I’ve told you, Potter. It’s-”  
“None of my business, I know,” Harry interrupted, holding his hand up. “But seriously you’re here everyday. What could you have possibly done?” Harry regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth. There were a lot of things that Malfoy had done. Harry swallowed, realizing that Malfoy’s detentions may have been a provision of his probation with the Ministry. “Unless… is it because you were a-”  
“No, it’s nothing like that,” Malfoy cut him off, dismissing Harry’s concern. He started to go back to his grading, but Harry wasn’t going to give up that easily.   
“Then what is it?”  
Malfoy sighed and leaned back in his seat. He cast Harry a sideways glance and looked as though he was about to launch into a menacing tangent, but he stopped himself. Instead, he resignedly looked down at his feet and answered.   
“I… I don’t actually have detention,” he admitted through gritted teeth.   
“What?” Harry said dumbly. Malfoy rolled his eyes, again. Harry began to wonder if the Slytherin boy had a problem keeping his eyes in place.   
“I asked Slughorn at the beginning of the year if I could spend my evenings here, helping him in the classroom instead of going up to the common room.”  
“Why?”  
Malfoy scoffed and shot Harry a condescending expression.   
“You may have noticed that I’m not exactly welcome at Hogwarts.” He gestured around the room as if it was the entirety of Hogwarts. “The whole former-Death-Eater thing isn’t exactly a popularity booster.”  
“But in Slytherin-” Harry began, but Malfoy started talking.   
“Half of Slytherin House hates me because I was a Death Eater, and the other half hates me because I didn’t want to be one.” The blonde boy shrugged, feigning apathy. “The only friends I have left are Blaise and Pansy, and I’m not even sure they count.”  
“So why did you come back then?” asked Harry.   
“Why do you think?” Malfoy shot daggers at him. Harry gulped, remembering that the main provision of Malfoy’s sentence was that he was required to attend Hogwarts to complete his schooling. Eventually, the Slytherin boy softened his gaze and turned his attention back to his desk. “Besides, even though I’ve never really liked Hogwarts, I suppose, in a way, it’s my home. At least, it’s more my home than Malfoy Manor ever will be. Especially after….”  
“After Voldemort used your house as his headquarters?” Harry finished for him, recalling the unpleasant few hours he had spent at Malfoy Manor.   
“I couldn’t stay there,” Malfoy said softly. Harry saw a brief crack in his impenetrable armor before Malfoy cleared his throat and gave his best sneer. “Besides, I couldn’t possibly let Gryffindor beat Slytherin for the Quidditch cup again.” Now it was Harry’s turn to roll his eyes.   
“Well then you may have returned in vain, because the Gryffindor team won’t be defeated by Slytherin, not on my watch.”  
“We’ll see about that Potter,” Malfoy challenged lazily, already checking out of the conversation in favor of working on his paper grading.   
“We certainly will Malfoy.”  
The rest of the evening passed by fairly quickly. The two boys didn’t talk after their brief conversation, but the silence that stretched between them didn’t feel nearly as uncomfortable as before.   
Harry trudged upstairs, tired after a long day. Once he reached his dorm, he quickly changed into his pajamas and slipped into bed, eager to get to sleep.   
Yet, sleep escaped him. He tried counting sheep, Hippogriffs, Thestrals, and just about any other creature he could think of, and his mind remained still, very much awake. So after sitting up and drawing the curtains around his bed, Harry retrieved the diary that he shoved under his bed that morning. He cast a quick lumos and began to read.   
October 1st, 1976  
Dear person who I assume is probably my future child (in which case, how wicked is your dad, am I right?)  
Moony is officially too tall. I’m a punk rock, leather-jacket wearing, properly disowned bad boy: I should be the tall one. But no, fate is cruel and chose to bestow it’s gifts of great height to the nerdy perfect that is Remus Lupin…  
Harry shut his eyes as he felt the bed beneath him disappear. When he opened his eyes, he was inside the Gryffindor boy’s bathroom, where Sirius and Remus were standing side by side in front of the mirror. Remus was brushing his teeth while Sirius fiddled with his tie.   
He flipped the tie upside down, tried twisting it around itself, and tried to just tie it in a knot before he temporarily gave up and turned his attention to fluffing up his hair. He glanced over at Remus, who’d just finished bending over the sink to spit.   
“Why do you have to be so bloody tall?” he grumbled, annoyed. His hands unbuttoned the top buttons of his shirt and he shook his head, making his hair go wild.   
“‘Fraid I can’t help it Pads.” Remus smirked at Sirius in the mirror while raking a hand through his tawny brown hair.   
“It just doesn’t make sense,” Sirius said. “I should be the tall one. It doesn’t suit you; you with your sweaters and books and softness.” Remus snorted and rolled his eyes. He turned away from the mirror and leaned against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest. When they were standing and facing each other, Harry could see that Remus was, in fact, significantly taller than his godfather, even at this young age.   
“Sirius, I’m not soft. I am a bloody werewolf.” He regarded his shorter friend with a smile. Sirius playfully elbowed Remus in the side.  
“Yeah, twelve days out of the year. But the rest of the time you’re just Remus.” Sirius turned away from his friend and picked up a small pencil from the counter. “Just kind-hearted, sweater-loving, too-damn-smart-for-his-own-good Remus Lupin.” Harry realized that the pencil was actually eyeliner as Sirius leaned closer towards the mirror and began to lift his upper eyelid to apply the product.   
“How do you do that without poking your eye out?” Remus commented, watching Sirius.   
“Skill and practice, my dear Moony. Skill and practice.” He didn’t look away from the mirror until he was finished. When he was, he leaned back and put the cap back on the pencil.   
“Does it hurt?” Remus took the eyeliner from Sirius’ hand and examined it.   
“A bit.” Sirius shrugged and turned his attention back to his tie. “But that’s the price of beauty, my friend.”  
“Like you’d have to pay to be beautiful,” Remus chuckled under his breath. Sirius stopped what he was doing and stared at his friend.   
“Did you just call me beautiful?”  
“So what if I did?” Remus winked playfully and Sirius laughed before returning to his tie. “You’re doing that entirely wrong, you know.” The taller boy pointed towards Sirius’ tie, which at this point resembled a giant knot.   
“That’s the point!” Sirius insisted, pulling the tie looser, further exposing his collarbones.   
“Here, let me just-” Remus reached out towards the tie, but Sirius swatted his hands away.   
“Remus!” Sirius exclaimed dramatically. “I can’t show up to Minnie’s class with my tie properly done, it’ll ruin my reputation!” The brown-haired boy laughed.  
“Perhaps you should consider referring to her as Professor McGonagall,” he suggested, raising an eyebrow.   
“Don’t worry, Minnie doesn’t mind.” Sirius thought for a moment. “Well, she pretends to mind, but that’s just our little cat and mouse game. She loves me, even if she doesn’t know it yet.”  
“You know, you sound quite a bit like Prongs when he’s talking about-”  
“Do not go and mention Evans this early in the morning,” Sirius grumbled at the mention of Harry’s mother.   
“Why do you hate her so much anyways?” Remus pressed, nudging Sirius with his shoulder.   
“She’s stealing my best friend from me!”  
“But she’s not even interested in James!”  
“But he’s in love with her,” Sirius explained, finally satisfied with the state of his shirt and tie. “One flick of her hair and he swoons like a damsel in distress.” The two boys walked out of the bathroom together while Remus rolled his eyes.   
“If any one of the marauders is a damsel in distress, it’s certainly you, Sirius Drama-Queen Black.”  
Harry felt the familiar pull back to reality and yawned when he found himself back in bed. He returned the diary to its previous location and tucked himself under the covers, finally tired enough to sleep.


	11. Not the Only One With Scars

Chapter Eleven

When Harry walked into Potions the next day, Ernie was already sitting at his table, saving his seat. He flashed the Hufflepuff a quick smile and sat down at the table, removing his potions textbook from his bag. There were still a few minutes until class officially started, so the only people in the room were Harry, Ernie, Professor Slughorn, and Malfoy, who was bent over his own textbook in concentration. Harry watched a small crinkle form above Malfoy’s left eyebrow; he never noticed it before, but when he thought about it, that tiny crease was always present whenever the Slytherin was deeply focused on something. The sound of a clearing throat caused Harry to tear his gaze away from Malfoy.   
“Do you think he’s up to something?” Ernie asked, sparing a glance in Malfoy’s direction.   
“What?”   
“I assume he’s bound to be up to some sort of trouble if you’re keeping such a close eye on him.” The Hufflepuff whispered, leaning in closer to Harry. “Do you know what he’s up to?” Harry thought for a moment and decided to go along with Ernie’s assumption; he himself wasn’t really sure why he was staring at Malfoy, but maybe his habit from sixth year was returning and he was subconsciously keeping tabs on Malfoy after all.   
“No,” Harry answered honestly, because in truth, he didn’t know what Malfoy was up to. “It’s probably nothing though,” he found himself insisting. “Malfoy hasn’t caused any trouble yet, and I doubt that he’s going to.”  
“He’s been keeping to himself though,” Ernie nudged Harry’s elbow. “That’s awfully suspicious.”  
“Well it might be kind of hard for him to make friends when everyone is so obsessed with what happened during the war,” Harry remarked bitterly, slightly surprised at how quickly he was jumping to Malfoy’s defense. After all, only yesterday, he’d also assumed things about Malfoy because of his Death Eater past.   
“Serves him right.” Ernie nodded, completely ignoring the sharpness of Harry’s tone. “Pureblood git.”  
Harry bit back a defense and instead started rifling through the pages of his textbook. A few non-hostile conversations with Malfoy and now he’s jumping to the Slytherin’s defense? He shook his head, trying to rid any thoughts of his former rival.   
The last few students shuffled in as class began, and Harry stopped pretending to read his textbook in favor of paying attention to Slughorn.  
“Good morning class,” he greeted, hands held over his belly. “The month is almost over and we’re almost finished with our Polyjuice Potions. Now, all they need to do is brew for the next few days, and then we can sample them at the end of the week.”   
Harry’s potion certainly looked better than the first day of class; at least now it was behaving like the potions textbook said it should. But as opposed to the murky brown color it was supposed to be, Harry’s potion was more of a deep burgundy. He only hoped that he was the only one who was going to be testing the potion, because he really would rather not accidentally poison anyone else.   
Ernie’s wasn’t much better, although his was slightly closer in color to what it was supposed to be. In fact, most of the cauldron’s around the room contained potions that may have looked similar to Polyjuice Potion, but were off in one way or another. Terry Boot’s was closer to green than brown; Padma’s looked about right, but smelled of roses, which Harry knew from experience was not correct; Zabini’s appeared perfect at first glance, but it wasn’t bubbling at all like the textbook said it should, and Michael’s resembled something closer to a soup than a potion.   
The only person who seemed to have gotten the potion right was Malfoy. His Polyjuice Potion looked like a snapshot right out of the book, and was boiling perfectly. Harry swallowed his annoyance. If only he still had the Prince’s book, then he’d be able to beat Malfoy.  
“Next week, we’ll start brewing our Amortentia. This will take less time than our Polyjuice Potions, but you must be even more careful brewing this love potion, for a batch of botched Amortentia is highly dangerous.” Slughorn began to walk around the classroom, his low drawl echoing off the walls. “What are some unique qualities of Amortentia?” Padma’s hand shot up. “Yes Miss Patil?”  
“It’s mother of pearl sheen?”   
“Correct. Mr. Boot?” He called on Terry, whose hand came up right after Padma’s.  
“It has spiral steam.”   
“Absolutely. The way the steam rises from the cauldron is a defining characteristic of this particular love potion.” Harry recalled the flowery scent (that he now knew had belonged to Ginny) from his sixth year and raised his hand. “Mr. Potter?”  
“It smells like whatever you’re attracted to.” He put his hand down and glanced across the room, finding Malfoy glowering at him.   
“Or whomever,” Slughorn added with a wink.   
The rest of class continued uneventfully. Harry nearly fell asleep while listening to Slughorn drone on and on about Amortentia and its powerful properties, but luckily, Ernie nudged him to keep him from letting his head fall onto the desk. Instead of sleeping, Harry doodled. He drew a snitch, a broom, and a sketch of Sirius, Remus, James, and Peter on the train to Hogwarts. Of course, Harry was no artist, so his picture was rather crude, and even he had trouble telling the boys apart.   
“Who are those people?” Ernie whispered over his shoulder. Harry nearly jumped out of his seat. Slughorn was so entranced by his own speaking voice that he hadn’t noticed that everyone in the class except Malfoy was blatantly not paying him any attention. Ernie had leaned over to Harry’s side of the table and he was glancing over Harry’s doodles, his eyes fixed on the image of the Mauraders on the train.   
“Has anyone told you that it’s rude to look over other people’s shoulders?” Harry whispered back pointedly, covering his doodles with his arm.   
“Yeah.” Ernie shrugged. “I choose to ignore those people.” He shot Harry a grin that he couldn’t help but return. He lifted his arm off his paper, letting Ernie look at it again.   
“That’s Remus.” He pointed towards a rough sketch of a lanky, scarred boy, laying across the train bench with his head in another boy’s lap.  
“Our old Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor?” Ernie raised an eyebrow.   
“Yeah, but when he was in school.” Harry moved his attention to the long haired boy who was playing with Remus’ hair. “That’s Sirius.”  
“As in Sirius Black?” Ernie looked alarmed. No matter how many times it was said, people still had a hard time swallowing the fact that Sirius was a good man after all the Ministry propaganda. Harry nodded.   
“He was my godfather.” Harry’s eyes wandered over to the chubby blonde boy in the corner of the compartment. “That’s Peter Pettigrew.” His gaze shifted to his father and he smiled fondly. “And that’s my dad.”  
“They were all friends?” Sometimes Harry forgot that not everyone was aware of the Marauders history.   
“Yeah, they were.”   
When class was finally dismissed, Harry waved Ernie goodbye and headed to the Great Hall for lunch. He arrived at the Gryffindor table and took a seat next to Ron.   
“How was Potions?” Ron asked, mouth already stuffed full of food.   
“As boring as ever.” Harry rolled his eyes. “I swear, the only reason Slughorn even teaches is because he’s so fond of the sound of his own voice.”  
“And of all the recognition he gets from his little Slug club.” Ron muttered bitterly. “Has he invited you to any of their parties yet?”  
“No, I don’t think he’s having any this year.”   
“He is.” Ginny took a seat across from Harry and Harry immediately brightened in her presence. It had been a week since Ginny asked him for space, and he was overjoyed to finally have his friend back.   
“Really?” Ron reached across the table and grabbed a few more sausages. “Why hasn’t Harry heard about them then?”  
“Maybe he’s not on the invite list.” Ginny shrugged and then looked at Harry. “Sorry.” Her expression was anything but apologetic though; she knew how much Harry despised Slughorn’s parties.   
“Thank Merlin for that.” Harry loaded up his plate and began to eat. “Are you invited?”  
“Unfortunately.” She rolled her eyes. “I take it that you wouldn’t want to come as my plus one then? As friends.” She added quickly.   
“No thanks,” Harry waved off her invite. “How about you take Ron instead? Since he’s so eager to attend,” he teased, elbowing Ron in the side.   
“I don’t want to go to Slughorn’s stupid party!” Ron pouted. “And even if I did, I couldn’t go with my sister as my date. That’s just pathetic.”  
“I’m pathetic?” Ginny demanded, her eyes glinting dangerously. Ron swallowed.   
“No! I just meant, well, er- I mean,” He looked at Harry helplessly. Harry held up his hands as if telling Ron ‘you’re on your own mate.’ “It’s not you, it’s just the fact that you’re my sister. People would think I’m lame.”  
“You are lame.” Ginny stuck her tongue out at her brother and he huffed. “Besides, I think I’ll just take Luna. She really liked the Christmas party, Merlin knows why, and if I brought her there’s at least a chance I’ll have a halfway decent time.”  
“That’s a great idea,” Harry agreed. He was the one who brought Luna to that party as his date, and while he hadn’t exactly had the greatest time, she’d definitely made it better.   
Hermione finally came into the Great Hall and sat down beside Ginny.   
“You all have a free period after lunch, right?” Hermione skipped all her usual greetings.   
“Yeah,” Harry and Ron said simultaneously.   
“No, I have Charms.” Ginny took a bite of her chicken.   
“In that case, will you two come with me to Hagrid’s after we’re finished eating?” Hermione asked the boys. “I want to check how he’s doing, given all his new responsibilities.”  
“Alright.” Harry nodded.   
The three friends finished up their lunches fairly quickly and Harry shot Ginny a wave when they exited the Great Hall.   
“Anything interesting in Sirius’ diary so far?” Hermione asked Harry while they trudged towards Hagrid’s hut. The ground was covered in muddy puddles from last night’s rain.   
“Nothing much.” Harry felt muddy water seep through his socks and he grimaced. “It’s just a lot of memories of his time with my dad and Remus.” And Peter, Harry added in his mind.   
“What were they like in school?” Ron asked, joining the conversation.   
“Well,” Harry thought for a moment. “My dad was really funny honestly. He’s a bit full of himself,” Harry smiled, remembering how his dad’s arrogance used to bother him, but now, he found it quite entertaining. “But he’s also very kind. Although, all he seems to want to talk about is my mum.”  
“Your mum’s in the diary?”  
“Yeah, but I only saw her briefly on the train. Sirius really didn’t like her. And out of all of my dad’s friends, she only liked Remus; they seemed pretty close.”  
“What was Remus like?” Hermione asked. She was always fond of their former professor; Harry assumed it was because they were both wicked smart and were good at keeping their friends in line.   
“Quite different. Happier, I think.” Harry paused. “He’s quite witty and he’s really not the perfect student I thought he’d be. Him and Sirius were really close.”  
“But I thought Sirius was your dad’s best friend?”  
“Yeah,” Harry remembered Sirius’ behavior around James and Remus. Him and Harry’s father acted like brothers. But there was something rather unique about Sirius and Remus’ relationship that Harry couldn’t quite put his finger on. “But him and Remus were…different. I don’t quite know how to describe it.”  
“And Sirius? How was he in school?” Ron nudged Harry in the side. “I’ll bet he was cool, he seems like he would’ve been.”  
“Honestly?” Harry grinned. “He was a bit melodramatic. Remus actually called him a drama queen.”  
“Really?” Hermione’s eyes sparkled with laughter.   
“Really,” Harry confirmed. They finished the rest of their walk to Hagrid’s in comfortable silence, neither Ron or Hermione daring to ask what Peter was like when he was younger.   
They finally reached the hut and found Hagrid playing fetch with Fang in his pumpkin patch. He waved them over and they eagerly went to him. Ever since becoming the Head of Gryffindor, Hagrid seemed to have gained a previously unknown confidence. His impressive size and height was only emphasized by his newfound swagger.   
“Hullo you three,” Hagrid grunted, chucking what appeared to be a dragon bone across the yard while Fang happily bounded after it. “Good to see yer lot. Whad’ya come down fer?”  
“To see you Hagrid,” Hermione replied. Fang trotted over to her, bone in mouth, and she patted his head. “We haven’t seen you much since the start of the term. We’ve missed you.”  
At this, Hagrid’s eyes began to water. His lower lip trembled as he looked at the three teens in front of him.   
“I’m so sorry Hermione, Ron, Harry,” he glanced between them, tears threatening to spill onto his cheeks. “I’ve just been so busy with being Head ‘O Gryffindor an’ all that, I haven’t had a chance to talk to yer much.” He sniffled and blew his nose on the inside of his fur coat.   
“It’s not your fault Hagrid,” Harry began while Ron looked helplessly between his friends and a blubbering Hagrid. “We’ve been busy too. We just wanted to come and visit, that’s all.”  
“Oh,” Hagrid said, wiping his nose on his sleeve. He sniffled one last time and smiled. “In that case, do yer lot want to come in fer a spot ‘o tea? I’m brewing a pot and I got some rock cakes.”  
“We’d love to, Hagrid,” Ron managed to say. Hagrid’s rock cakes were, at best, unappetizing. They followed the half-giant inside his hut and sat around the table. Hagrid brought over the tea kettle and poured each of the trio a cup. He also loaded up a plate of his infamous rock cakes and placed those on the table as well, though Ron, Hermione, and Harry made a point of pretending they weren’t there.   
“So what’ve you three been up ter? Final year a’ Hogwarts, must have a lot ter do.” He sat down and Fang curled up beside his chair.   
“Harry’s certainly got a full plate this year.” Ron smirked and elbowed his friend.   
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Harry glanced at Ron, who shrugged.   
“Just between classes, the Quidditch team, dealing with your fangirls, and detentions with Malfoy for the rest of term, you don’t have a lot of time on your hands.”   
“Detention with Malfoy?” Hagrid raised an eyebrow. “Are those two fightin’ again?” He looked at Hermione, but Ron answered.   
“Like they ever stopped.”   
“Not that I blame yeh Harry,” Hagrid said reassuringly. “I’m sure the lil’ prat deserved it fer wha’ever ‘e did.”  
“It’s not like that,” Harry glared at Ron. “I’m in detention with Slughorn because I… er-” Hermione was looking at Harry with a raised eyebrow and a smirk, as if she was saying I-told-you-so-in-sixth-year-and-you-didn’t-listen. “I sort of cheated during Sixth year.”  
“I never asked,” Ron said suddenly, cutting off Hagrid, who looked like he was about to say something in response to Harry’s admission. “Why is Malfoy in detention?”  
“Not sure actually. Git won’t tell me.”  
“Now wait jest a minute ‘Arry. About that cheating thing…” Harry sat and nodded while Hagrid gave him a ten minute lecture on the importance of academic integrity, which he found slightly ironic given Hagrid’s expulsion in his third year.   
Eventually, they moved away from the topic of Harry’s expulsion and chatted about the Quidditch team, Sirius’ diary, the new teachers, and Hermione’s Arithmancy class (well, more like Hermione droned on about her class while Ron and Harry played with Fang).   
After a few hours, Ron, Hermione, and Harry figured it was time to head back to the castle to catch dinner before Harry had to go to detention. Dinner went as usual; Harry was bothered occasionally by over eager girls asking about him and Ginny, but other than that, he had a heated conversation with Ron over the best Quidditch strategies. Once dinner was finished, he bid his friends ado and headed down to Slughorn’s classroom.   
Harry let out an audible sigh of relief when he realized Malfoy wasn’t there: he wasn’t sure he could deal with any more pestering, Merlin knows the fourth year Gryffindor girls bothered him enough, he didn’t need Malfoy’s unwarranted taunts as well. Harry could use a peaceful evening. Slughorn was sitting at his desk, humming as he poured over a large black book. He glanced up, caught sight of Harry and smiled.   
“Harry! Good to see you.” He closed the book and sauntered over to Harry. “Mr. Malfoy will be joining us shortly. He’s running a bit late.”  
Harry resisted the urge to groan. So much for his peaceful evening.   
As if on cue, Malfoy walked into the room. His usually slicked back hair was tousled and fell over his forehead messily. Harry let himself glance over the rest of Malfoy’s figure, which was equally disheveled.   
His clothes, that were normally perfectly wrinkle free and pristine, were rumpled and there was a spot of dirt on his left sleeve. His shirt was untucked in the front with the top buttons undone, and his tie hung loosely around his neck, exposing his collarbones. Even his distinct strut was reduced to more of a shuffle.   
Malfoy caught Harry staring and shot him a dirty look that made Harry quickly look away.   
“Glad to have you, Draco.” Slughorn gave him a nod and then turned back to his desk to grab a heavy book. He placed the book on the table in front of the two boys, where it landed with a loud thunk. “Today, I need you two to brew some Calming Drought together. Madam Pomfrey’s stock is running low.” He started to flip through the book, finally landing on the page he seemed to be looking for. “Here it is. Page eighty seven. All the supplies you’ll need are in the cabinet, and this is a fourth year Potion so you should have no trouble with it.” Slughorn snatched his bag off his desk and started to head out of the classroom. “Have a good evening, you’re dismissed as soon as the potion is finished.”  
As soon as Slughorn went out the door, Malfoy left Harry’s side and started to walk towards the opposite end of the classroom.   
“Where do you think you’re going?” Harry demanded, feeling the urge to voice his frustration. “Slughorn wanted us to do this together.” He grimaced on the word ‘together.’  
Malfoy glanced back at Harry and sneered.   
“I’m fetching the ingredients, you idiot.” He smirked. “Unless you think that the great Harry Potter is in fact so great that he can brew a Calming Drought without any of the necessary supplies.”  
Malfoy rolled his eyes and continued towards the Potions cabinet. When he returned with an armful of various jars and pots, Harry was reading over the instructions.   
“Alright, so it looks like we’ll have to-”  
“Merlin Potter, are you really that thick?” Malfoy snatched the book away from Harry and slammed it shut. “You’re in the N.E.W.Ts Potions class, you should know how to brew a simple Calming Drought by now.” He shoved a jar of lavender into Harry’s hands and placed his cauldron on the table. “Here, you can prepare the ingredients.”  
When Harry stared at Malfoy indignantly, the blonde boy turned back to him and smirked.   
“Unless chopping up some plants is too difficult for the Chosen One.” Harry resisted the urge to strangle Malfoy and began to aggressively chop the lavender into small pieces. “Do be careful,” Malfoy warned. “This potion will be used on actual students.”  
“I didn’t know you cared,” Harry snorted, but slowed down his knife and started to cut up the lavender more carefully.   
“I don’t, but I assumed the Gryffindor Golden Boy might care about the well being of his fellow students.”   
They worked in silence for a few minutes, falling into a rhythm. Harry was so focused on chopping up the ingredients that he didn’t notice Malfoy staring at his hand until he spoke.   
“I must not tell lies,” Malfoy said. Harry turned to see the blonde boy examining the back of his scarred hand. Malfoy looked up into Harry’s burning green eyes.   
“Courtesy of Umbridge,” Harry grumbled. He shifted his hand so Malfoy couldn’t look at the scar anymore.   
“She did that to you?” Malfoy stared at Harry in disbelief.   
“Her idea of detention.” Harry shrugged. “You honestly didn’t know?”  
One look at Malfoy’s face and Harry knew he didn’t have to ask. His stone cold expression flickered for a moment and Harry swore he saw hurt behind his eyes.   
“No, I didn’t,” he said softly. Malfoy turned away from Harry and continued to stir the Potion. Somehow, his lack of aggression made Harry even more worked up.  
“Not all of us escaped the war unscathed, Malfoy,” Harry spat bitterly. He wasn’t even sure why the Slytherin boy was pissing him off so much today, but something about his perfectly pointy face just put Harry on edge.   
“You’re not the only one with scars, you know,” Malfoy retorted, the venom in his voice not quite matching Harry’s.   
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Harry rolled his eyes. Malfoy couldn’t possibly be talking about himself; the blonde boy didn’t have so much as a spot on his skin.  
“Sod off, Potter,” Malfoy grumbled. He shifted away from Harry and gave him the cold shoulder, which Harry gladly accepted. He wasn’t sure he could handle much more conversation.   
By the end of the night, the two boys had brewed a large batch of Calming Drought and left the classroom without so much as a word. Harry made his way up to the Gryffindor boy’s dormitory and fell into bed, exhaustion taking over his body.   
The other boys were already fast asleep, having gotten back to the room hours beforehand. Moonlight streamed in from the window, glaring into Harry’s eyes. Harry closed the curtains around his bed and turned onto his side. He waited for sleep to take over.   
Unfortunately, after tossing and turning for several atongozingly long minutes, Harry’s mind would not calm. His body was tired and limp, but his brain couldn’t seem to shut off. He drowsily got out of bed and whipped on his robes, heading off to the Infirmary.   
He wasn’t sure if Madam Pomfrey would willingly give him some Sleeping Drought, but he desperately needed some; after all, he did have Quidditch Practice early in the morning. The walk to the Infirmary was surprisingly short, and when he opened the door, the all-too familiar smell of healing potions filled his nostrils. Luckily, Harry had managed to keep from getting seriously injured so far, so this was his first visit to Madam Pomfrey since the beginning of the new school year.   
He spotted the nurse leaning over a bed across the room, so he started to shuffle towards her. He stopped when he realized she was tending to a student.   
“That should help, but the bruising will stick around for another day or two,” she said softly. Her face was twisted in concentration. Harry longed to see who she was talking to, but the curtains around the bed were drawn, so in order to see, he would have to get closer. “I do wish you had come to me earlier. I could’ve done much more if I’d seen you right away.” Harry started to inch closer before he froze at the sound of a distinctly familiar voice.   
“I thought I could take care of it myself.” The aristocratic voice said, his tone bordering between insistent and haughty. The voice became softer and more dangerous as he continued. “I didn’t want anyone to find out.”  
“But this is a rather nasty Stinging Jinx, Mr-”  
“I don’t want anyone pitying me!” Harry scouched back a few steps and stretched his neck to peer beyond the curtains. Sure enough, there was Malfoy, his annoyingly silver hair glimmering in the moonlight.   
He was buttoning up his nightshirt, and Harry’s eyes traveled over his lean frame. Nasty purplish green bruises littered the left side of his body, and Malfoy winced as his hands brushed over the damaged skin. But what caught Harry’s attention were the thin, long, silvery scars that stretched over Malfoy’s chest up to his collarbones. They almost glittered against his pale skin.   
Is that what Malfoy meant when he said I’m not the only one with scars? Harry wondered. He wanted to move towards the bed and get a closer look, but all too soon, Malfoy’s shirt was done up and he moved to withdraw the curtains around the bed. Harry retreated into the darkness and rushed out of the Infirmary.   
He wasn’t quite sure why he didn’t want Malfoy to know he was there. Maybe he was embarrassed that he’d seen the Slytherin without his shirt on. Maybe he just didn’t want to have to deal with another tense conversation. Maybe he knew that Malfoy would’ve never wanted Harry to see him that vulnerable. Or maybe….   
Maybe Harry rushed out of the room because one look at those jagged scars was enough to make him feel sick.   
Harry stopped in his tracks as the realization hit him like a freight train. Those scars could’ve only come from one thing: Harry and Malfoy’s fight in the sixth year. When Harry used Sectumsempra on Malfoy, he didn’t know the full extent of the spell and regretted casting it immediately afterwards. He was reassured by his assumption that Snape was able to heal Malfoy; that the only proof of that fight would be their memories. But Sectumsempra was Dark Magic after all, and scars caused by Dark Magic never healed.   
Harry practically ran the rest of the way back to Gryffindor tower, hoping somehow that he could outrun his own guilt. When he reached his bed, he sat down and ran his fingers through his hair, catching his breath. He reached under his bed and opened Sirius’ diary to the next entry, already knowing that there was no way he’d be able to get to sleep anytime soon, even if he did have the Sleeping Draught he originally intended to get.


	12. 1976: Late Nights

Chapter Twelve

Harry opened the diary and flipped to where he last left off.   
October 30th, 1976  
Dear person-who-will-be-murdered-as-soon-as-I-discover-you’ve-been-reading-this,   
You really should stay out of other people’s things. It’s rather rude to snoop. However, if you do not care about your untimely demise, I suppose you may keep reading. Just know that I’m coming for you.   
Gryffindor won the Quidditch Match against Ravenclaw; not that anyone was surprised. I swear, Gerald Hunter is a joke of a Quidditch captain.   
We had a party in the Gryffindor common room to celebrate. It’s lucky our year doesn’t have any snitches, well, besides Evans. But Marlene managed to convince her to come to the party, which means she can’t go to Minnie without also revealing herself. Sadly for me, that also means she actually went to the party. James, of course, was overjoyed when he heard this. I still don’t understand what he sees in her.   
Even with Evans there, it was pretty wicked. We played Wizards Truth and you’ll never guess what I learned about…   
Harry closed his eyes and felt the world start to spin around him. When he finally landed on his feet, he pried his eyelids open and found himself in the middle of the Gryffindor common room, where a group of teenagers sat in a circle. A bottle of firewhiskey was being passed around.   
Harry recognized several of the teens. On the right side of the circle sat the four Marauders: Peter, whose face was flushed in the dimly lit room, James, whose glasses hung crookedly on the tip of his nose, Remus, who for once was not wearing a sweater, and Sirius, whose Gryffindor tie was tied around his head like a bandana.   
Sirius was on Remus’ right, but Lily sat on his left. Her flaming red hair was tied back in a low messy bun and she seemed much more relaxed than she did on the train. Next to her was a petite black girl that Harry didn’t recognize. Light bounced off her jet black ringlets, framing her face like a halo. The next person in the circle was another that Harry didn’t recognize: she was a lanky blonde with rather severe eyeliner and a bright red lip. Alice and Frank Longbottom sat beside her. Frank whispered something in Alice’s ear and she giggled. Harry tore his eyes away from them, knowing the tragedy that lay ahead of them, and spotted a young Kingsley. Even as a teenager, Kingsley was built.   
“Wizard’s Truth anyone?” Frank addressed the group as he was passed the bottle of Firewhiskey. A murmur of agreement was uttered from the group, with the exception of Lily, who asked:  
“What’s Wizard’s Truth?”   
“Well,” Remus cleared his throat and turned to Lily. “Essentially, those participating sit around in a circle and pass around a bottle. Whoever has the bottle gets to ask the entire group a question. Then, they pass around the bottle and everyone answers. Everyone has to answer, including the person asking.”  
“Like Truth or Dare?” Lily clarified. Harry remembered that his mother was muggleborn, so her knowledge of the magic world was probably limited, much like Harry’s had been.   
“Sort of, but there is no dare option,” Remus answered before continuing to explain. “And because it’s Wizard’s Truth, when you decide to play, you’re locked in a truth-binding spell so you cannot lie, but if you don’t want to answer a question, you’re free to take a shot instead and pass.” Lily nodded and the group settled into silence.   
“Who starts?” Peter piped up, hiccuping. All eyes turned to Remus.  
“Why don’t we start with Remus? Since he did just explain the rules,” James suggested.   
“Fine.” Remus shrugged as Sirius passed him the bottle. He thought for a moment before asking his question. “Hmm, how many detentions have you ever gotten?”  
“Boring.” James sighed and Remus rolled his eyes, smiling. He continued on, ignoring James.   
“I’ve gotten two, but only because this one got us caught.” He pointed to Sirius, who gasped in over-dramatised shock.   
“Me!” He exclaimed, putting a hand on his chest as if he were offended. “What about James and Peter?”  
“We both know that Peter gets dragged into your shenanigans, and while James loves causing chaos, you’re the one that always lands him and yourself in detention,” Remus said, a smirk tugging at his lips. Sirius grumbled resignedly and Remus passed the bottle onto Lily for her turn to answer the question.   
“One.” She turned towards James and glared at him. “McGonagall caught me hexing Potter after he asked me out for the millionth time.”  
“And I’d do it again, my love,” James cooed, batting his eyelashes at her.   
“Are you always this insufferable?” she spat, her grip on the bottle getting tighter.   
“Are you always this beautiful?”  
“Urgh. Take it, Mary.” She passed the firewhiskey onto the girl next to her, whom Harry now knew was named Mary.   
“Three.” Mary shrugged and handed the bottle to the blonde girl.   
“Seven.” The blonde offered the firewhiskey to Alice. Alice took it and answered the question proudly.   
“I’ve never gotten any.” Frank grabbed the bottle from her.   
“One.”  
“None,” Kingsley answered.   
“Seventeen,” Peter said apprehensively. Harry was almost shocked before he remembered the shenanigans that his father and Sirius got up to while they were at Hogwarts. Like Remus said, Peter probably got dragged into many of their messes.   
“Sixty-seven,” James said, chest puffed up pridefully. “I managed to talk my way out of two of them.”  
“Sixty-nine.” Sirius wiggled his eyebrows suggestively and Remus groaned. He quickly snatched the bottle out of Sirius’ hands and gave it to Lily.   
“Alright, your turn Lily.” She took the firewhiskey and thought for a moment before grinning evilly.   
“How many times have you asked out a girl who’s shown no interest in you, and has rejected you every time you’ve asked?” Harry snickered at the look on his father’s face. “For me, it’s never.”  
“Never.”  
“Never.”  
“I haven’t.”  
“Nope.”  
“No.”  
“Never.” Peter passed the bottle to James, who took it and put it down on the floor. His face was screwed up in concentration. He opened his eyes and did a quick count on his fingers.   
“One hundred and three times,” he announced. He then turned to Lily and shot her a cheeky wink. “And I don’t plan to stop any time soon.” Lily rolled her eyes.   
“None.”  
“Never.” Mary received the bottle and thought for a moment.   
“What’s your worst fear?” Her face screwed up in disgust. “Mine’s spiders.” She passed the bottle to the blonde who immediately answered.   
“Dying.” She gave the firewhiskey to Alice, who took a bit more time to figure out her response.  
“Losing a loved one.”  
“Losing my mind,” Frank said. Harry flinched: it seems that his worst fear did, in fact, come true.   
“Heights,” Kingsley said. James cocked his head at him.  
“Kingsley, you play Quidditch,” he pointed out.  
“Yeah,” Kingsley began to explain patiently. “But that’s different. You have a broom. Standing on the edge of a tall building? That’s terrifying.”  
“Being unwanted.” Peter’s voice trembled slightly as he glanced at the other three Mauraders. Harry felt a twinge of pity for the small blonde boy.   
“Failure.” James shrugged and passed the bottle to Sirius. Harry’s eyes wandered over to Remus, who swallowed nervously and fidgeted with his tie. Harry paled, remembering the form that his boggart took. If Remus admitted that his worst fear was the full moon, people would be suspicious to say the least.   
“Becoming like the rest of my family,” Sirius admitted, feigning nonchalance, but the pain that flashed behind his eyes told a different story. He passed the bottle to Remus, concern evident on his face. Remus smiled at Sirius and threw the bottle back, taking a deep swallow.   
The rest of the group, besides the Marauders, looked slightly surprised at his unwillingness to share.   
“Not feeling up to sharing, huh Remus?” Frank teased. He didn’t notice the dangerous look that Sirius regarded him with.   
“Some secrets have to stay secret Frank.” Remus smirked and handed the firewhiskey to Lily.   
“Dying without being able to say goodbye.” Harry swallowed. She never did get a chance to say goodbye. The bottle passed wordlessly from Mary to the blonde. She looked around the room, noting everyone’s somber expressions.   
“Well that got dark,” she joked. “My turn. Have you ever gotten stoned? My answer is obviously yes.” Harry bit back a laugh. This girl was certainly something.   
“What’s getting stoned?” Alice piped up. Harry remembered that she was a pureblood, and therefore probably had no knowledge of any sort of Muggle drugs.   
“Muggle thing,” Lily answered. “If you don’t know what it is, you haven’t done it.”  
The firewhiskey went around the circle, each person answering no to the question. Eventually the bottle reached Remus, who glanced around the room mischievously before answering.   
“Yeah.”   
“Remus!” James exclaimed, shocked.   
“I live in a Muggle neighborhood during the summers.” He shrugged and gave the firewhiskey to Lily. The rest of the teens also said no, and the blonde passed the bottle to Alice.   
“Alright Alice, your turn.”  
“Do you fancy anyone?” She smiled dreamily, looking at Frank. “For me, it’s yes.” Frank caressed her cheek before answering.   
“Yes.”  
“No,” Kingsley said, bored.   
“Yes,” Peter admitted. James gave him a gentle shove in the shoulder and smiled at him.   
“Petey!” Peter blushed and covered his face with his hands after handling the bottle over to James, who took it and eagerly answered.  
“Yes, and her name’s Lily Ev-”  
“She only asked if you fancied anyone, not who it was that you fancied!” Lily cut him off and pointed an angry finger at him. James pouted, but passed the firewhiskey onto Sirius.  
“Sort of.” Sirius shrugged.   
“Kind of,” Remus said casually, but the blush creeping up his cheeks suggested anything but casualty.   
“Yes,” Lily sputtered before slapping a hand over her mouth. James grinned, but even she seemed too shocked by her admission to notice.   
“No.” Mary shook her head.   
“Yes,” the blonde said, smirking.   
“Who do you fancy?” Frank asked the group once the bottle came to him. “Obviously, my answer’s Alice.”  
“I don’t fancy anyone,” Kingsley rolled his eyes and held out the bottle for Peter.  
“Jillian Holdsby,” Peter said, flushing furiously.  
“That Ravenclaw sixth year?” Sirius reached over James to ruffle Peter’s hair. “Good for you Pete, she’s quite fetching.”  
“And smart,” Remus added, giving his friend an approving nod.  
“And way out of my league,” Peter grumbled.  
“Don’t worry Wormtail,” James gave Peter a reassuring smile. “We’ll help you score a date with her.” Peter shrugged and passed the bottle to James.  
“Me?” He took the firewhiskey excitedly. “Finally, Lily Evans!” Lily shot daggers at James. He smirked at her and handed the bottle to Sirius, barely noticing when his friend took a shot instead of answering the question.   
Harry regarded Sirius suspiciously as he offered the bottle to Remus. Sirius didn’t seem like the type of person who would be shy about who he fancied; it must’ve been someone quite embarrassing for him not to share.   
To Harry’s surprise, Remus and Lily didn’t answer the question either, each taking a deep gulp from the firewhiskey instead.   
“No one,” Mary said, but her attention was fixed on Lily. The blonde snatched the bottle out of Mary’s hand and spoke.  
“Georgia Fang.” Harry swallowed his surprise; he knew there were gay wizards and witches at Hogwarts, but after years with the Dursley’s, he still couldn’t help but be surprised whenever someone was so confident in their identity. The rest of the group looked equally shocked; well, everyone except Sirius, who seemed oddly unruffled by the news. James opened his mouth to speak, but then closed it. When he started to speak again, Harry secretly prayed that his father wouldn’t say anything offensive.   
“Marlene, isn’t she a Slytherin?” Is what James finally managed to ask.   
“Yup,” Marlene said, popping the ‘p.’  
“Traitor,” Kingsley taunted teasingly.  
“Hey! I can’t help who I fancy!” She threw up her hands in exasperation.   
“I suppose you can’t,” Remus muttered, his eyes glued to the floor.   
“Frank,” Alice said when the bottle reached her. The firewhiskey was passed to Kingsley, who thought for a second before posing his question to the group.  
“How many people have you shagged?”  
“Finally, a good question!” James practically shouted. Kingsley ignored him and continued with his answer.   
“Three.”  
“Zero,” Peter said abashedly.   
“Zero,” James admitted. “But only because I’m saving myself for the most beautiful of all women, the most wondrous human amongst mankind, the one, the only, Miss Lily Ev-” Sirius slapped a hand over James’ mouth to keep him from talking and it was the first time all night that Lily regarded Sirius with a less than venomous expression.   
“Two,” he said, stealing the bottle from James and passing it to Remus.   
“Four.” Remus shrugged. Harry’s eyes widened. Remus didn’t really seem like a player, but clearly, not everything was as it seemed.   
“Remus!” James leaned over Sirius and gave his friend a playful punch in the arm. “You dog!”  
“Really?” Sirius raised an eyebrow.   
“You don’t know what I get up to in the summer.” He smirked and gave Sirius a wink.   
“Evidently, you get high and shag people in dusty old libraries,” Sirius retorted, nudging Remus.   
“I would never! I consider the library to be holy ground.” He handed the firewhiskey to Lily. The bottle continued around and everyone answered.   
“Zero.”  
“One.”  
“Two.”  
“One.”  
“One.”  
“When you were Sorted,” Peter began, now his turn to ask a question. “Did the Sorting Hat consider you for any other houses? For me… it did.”  
“Not me,” James said proudly.   
“Yeah,” Sirius looked at the floor.  
“It did for me too.” Remus gave Peter and Sirius a reassuring smile.   
“No,” said Lily.   
“No.”  
“Nope.”  
“Yes,” Alice admitted.   
“No.”  
“Yes.”  
“What other houses were you considered for?” It was now James’ turn and he continued off of Peter’s question. “It only ever considered me for Gryffindor so…”   
“Slytherin,” Sirius said, and James looked as if his eyes might bug out of his head. “But only because of my family,” he added quickly. James relaxed.   
“Ravenclaw.” Harry thought Remus’ answer made sense. Remus had always been extraordinarily smart, and he did have quite the knack for all things academic. He became a Professor for Merlin’s sake. Harry wondered how his life might’ve been affected if Remus was never put into Gryffindor with his father.   
“None.”  
“It didn’t say any others.”  
“Only Gryffindor.” Marlene smirked and handed the firewhiskey over to Alice.   
“Ravenclaw.”  
“None.”  
“Hufflepuff,” Kingsley said begrudgingly.   
“Hufflepuff.” Peter glanced over at Kingsley, relieved that a fellow Gryffindor was considered for Hufflepuff.   
“Finally, my turn.” Sirius reached over James and snatched the bottle out of Peter’s grasp. “If you had to snog one person in this room, but they had to be the same gender, who would you snog?”  
“Why do they have to be the same gender?” James whined. Harry rolled his eyes: his father was obviously disappointed that he wouldn’t get to talk about Lily.   
“Because I don’t particularly want to hear any more about how you’d like to suck face with Evans, or how Alice and Frank want to suck face with each other.” Sirius raised an eyebrow at James. “Besides, it’s the questions you least expect that are the most interesting.”  
“Fine. So who’d you snog then?” James relented and leaned back against the couch.   
“Easy. Remus,” Sirius said casually. Remus quickly looked over at Sirius, eyebrows furrowed, before glancing away to stare at the floor.   
“Not me?” James pouted at Sirius and moved in closer, invading his friend’s personal space. Sirius rolled his eyes and shoved James away, smiling.   
“Sorry Jamesy, but you’re basically my brother and as we all surprisingly now know, Remus easily has the most experience here. He’s probably a bloody fantastic kisser.” Sirius raised his eyebrows and Remus… blushed? Harry couldn’t be sure, but he swore there was a pinkness to his cheeks that wasn’t there before.   
“As much as I hate to say it,” Remus sighed defeatedly. ”Sirius.”   
“So you want to makeout with me Moony?” Sirius wrapped an arm around Remus’ shoulder, which he brushed off.   
“I did not say that,” Remus corrected. “You said if we had to snog one person of the same gender in this room, not if we wanted to.”  
“So you don’t want to makeout with me?” Sirius faked being hurt. “I’ve never been so offended in my life!” Remus snorted and handed the bottle to Lily.   
“Lily, your turn.”  
“Marlene.” The bottle passed to Mary.  
“Marlene.”  
“Mary.” Marlene shrugged and the firewhiskey moved to Alice.  
“Marlene.”  
“Marlene, it appears as though you’re popular among the ladies,” Sirius said suggestively.   
“That is the idea, yeah.” She smirked back at him.   
“Ummm… probably… Peter?” Frank made awkward eye contact with the pudgy blonde.   
“Frank. The rest of you are complete idiots,” Kingsley announced.   
“Excuse me?” Remus raised an eyebrow.   
“Remus, you’re an idiot because you willingly spend time with the rest of these gits.” Kingsley pointed at the other three boys beside Remus.   
“... fair point.”  
“Well, I suppose… James?” Peter said after a moment of consideration.   
“Kingsley,” James said surely.   
“Alright, next round. The next question is…”  
But Harry never got to hear the next question because at this point the memory swirled out of focus and soon Harry was seated back in his own bed. He yawned, having completely forgotten the reason why he felt the need to distract himself and tucked himself into bed.


	13. "Did You Just Call Me Pretty, Potter?"

Chapter 13

On Monday morning, Harry woke up excited and full of energy: today was the day they’d finally start dueling in Defense Against the Dark Arts. Despite the war, Defense Against the Dark Arts was still his favorite subject and he was eager to learn. He pulled himself out of bed and got dressed. All the other boys except Seamus were already awake and were getting ready as well.   
“Should we wake him?” Ron gestured lazily towards a sleeping Seamus, his voice still groggy with sleep.   
“I’ll do it,” Dean said, already making his way towards the bed. “You know how he can be when he first wakes up.”  
He sat on the side of Seamus’ bed and pulled the curtains around them. Ron shot Harry a quizzical glance but Harry merely shrugged and the boys continued to prepare for the day.   
Harry walked over to the mirror next to Neville and started to tie his tie. Neville gave him a warm smile that Harry returned.   
“Neville?” Harry began, spotting a crimson stain on his friend’s collar that looked suspiciously like red lipstick. “What’s that?”  
“What’s wh-” Neville glanced down and his face became almost as red as the mark in question. “Oh. That. Er- well… you see…”  
“So the rumors are true then?” Ron said as he waltzed past them. “Word on the street is that Neville’s become quite the ladies man.”  
“Well I wouldn’t say-”  
“Really? I can’t say I’m surprised,” Harry said honestly. From the many conversations he’d overheard, Neville was considered to be Hogwart’s most eligible bachelor, following Harry. He couldn’t blame the girls; Neville was a hero, and the fact that he had grown six inches and gained about twenty pounds in muscle mass over the past year certainly helped.   
Neville didn’t respond, but his face turned from red to a deep scarlet.   
“Dean, we’re heading down. You coming?” Harry called. Dean was still sitting on Seamus’ bed, the curtains drawn.   
“We’ll be down in a minute.” Seamus was the one that responded, rather breathlessly.   
“Alright, but don’t stay up here too long, or Ron will finish all waffles and they’ll be none left.”   
“Hey!” Ron elbowed Harry in the side.   
Harry, Ron, and Neville headed down to the Great Hall together, where they found Hermione already sitting and engaged in an intense conversation with Ginny.   
“-and Michael and Dean? You liked them, didn’t you?” Harry overheard Hermione say as he sat down.   
“Yes, but I also like-” Ginny’s eyes drifted over to Harry and she closed her mouth. “Hi Harry.”  
“Did we interrupt something?” Ron wrapped an arm around Hermione’s shoulder and glanced between her and his sister. Hermione looked like she was about to answer before Ginny interjected.   
“No, not at all.” She gave Ron a smile and took a bite of her scrambled eggs.   
“Are you ready for dueling today?” Hermione asked them, changing the subject.   
“Yes,” Harry said at the same time that Ron said “no.”  
“Of course you’re ready. You’re the best Defense student Hogwarts has ever seen and you don’t have to duel bloody Malfoy,” Ron groaned. Harry had forgotten Malfoy was Ron’s partner; evidently, Ron had not forgotten this fact.   
“Well, I have to duel Zabini,” Harry offered, shrugging. Zabini wasn’t nearly as bad as Malfoy, but he was still a Slytherin.   
“That’ll be easy. He’ll probably just pose and try to distract you with his good looks rather than actually fighting.” Ginny snorted.   
“Fair point.” Harry smirked. “He doesn’t really seem like the fighting type.”  
They finished breakfast and headed off towards Professor Noble’s classroom. She was already inside, reading at the front of the room with her feet propped up on her desk. Parvati and Lavender were also there, gossiping at one of the back tables. It only took a few minutes for everyone to arrive: it seemed all the students were as excited for dueling as Harry was, well, all of them except for one.   
Malfoy strode in at the last minute taking a seat in the very back of the room beside Parkinson and Zabini. He looked much better than he had the other day, but his expression was even darker than usual. His hair was immaculately gelled back against his head, shining brilliantly against the overhead lights. His uniform was back to its original pristine state, and Harry felt a twinge of guilt remembering the long, silver scars that lay beneath his clothes.   
“Alright kids,” Professor Noble drawled, kicking her feet onto the floor. She circled her desk so she was facing the students and hopped onto her desk so she was sitting with her legs dangling down. “So our dueling officially starts today.”  
The students erupted in a murmur of enthusiasm, and Harry found himself turning around in his seat to look at the Slytherins in the back of the room. All three sat completely silent and uninterested in the prospect of dueling. Parkinson picked at her nails; Zabini was drumming his fingers on the table; and Malfoy looked as if he would rather be anywhere else in the world. Harry whipped his head back around to face Professor Noble.   
“Just a reminder that you are only permitted to use the offensive spells on the approved lists that were given to you last week. And that you were also supposed to have memorized all of those spells before this class Mr. Finnigan.” She raised her eyebrow and nodded in Seamus’ direction, where he was hurriedly shoving the list of offensive spells in his bag. “There are at least fifty spells on that list, so your creativity should not be dwindled. Silent and wandless magic is permitted.” A few students groaned at this. Snape had tried to teach them silent hexes in sixth year, but very few people in the class ever succeeded. Of course, Harry knew that no students in the class were capable of wandless magic yet; only the most powerful of wizards could accomplish that feat. “Any questions?”  
When she was met with silence, she nodded and gestured for everyone to stand up.   
“In that case, please find your partner. Longbottom, Finnigan, Granger, Potter, and Weasley will begin as our attackers. Begin whenever you’re ready.”  
Harry begrudgingly made his way to the back of the classroom, where Malfoy and Parkison had abandoned Zabini.   
“Zabini.” He nodded curtly, holding out his hand.   
“Potter,” he greeted indifferently. He took Harry’s hand and shook it. “I suppose we’d better start then.”  
“I suppose you’re right.” Harry shrugged and took a few steps back. They saluted each other with their wands and then took a bow. As soon as he stood back up, Harry fired a silent disarming spell at Zabini, which he blocked effortlessly. For about a minute, he dodged and deflected every hex Harry sent his way, the bored expression never wavering from his face.   
All too soon, Harry managed to land a short stunning jinx, and Zabini froze where he stood. Only his face was able to move.   
“I guess you’ve got me then,” he drawled, sighing.   
“Are you even trying?” Harry asked, obviously frustrated. The entire reason he returned to Hogwarts was to finish his education, but how was he supposed to learn anything if his dueling partner was just letting him win?  
“Not really,” Zabini said as the jinx started to wear off. He brushed off his robes. “Though, it’s not like I could win even if I did.”  
“You never know if you don’t try.” Harry saluted Zabini once again, signaling the start of their duel.   
“Merlin Potter, that sounds like a cheesy line from one of Pansy’s romance novels,” Zabini chuckled, his deep voice rumbling in his chest. Unlike with Malfoy, there was no edge to Zabini’s voice: no hatred or emotion. He was talking as if he couldn’t tell the difference between Harry and a brick wall: that was how little he cared. Harry found this slightly reassuring, but also oddly disappointing.   
They continued dueling for a few more minutes, this time Zabini putting in slightly more effort. He had just started to cast a silent stinging hex when he heard Ron’s voice from across the room.   
“How did you do that?” Ron exclaimed. Harry whipped around to see what his friend was referring to, accidentally shifting his aim at the last minute. Before Harry could stop it, the stinging hex flew across the room and hit Ron in the side, knocking him over. Ron, panicking, sent a stunning hex back in Harry’s direction, accidentally hitting Zabini.   
“Ron!” Harry sprinted over to Ron, who was sprawled out over the floor, clutching his right arm. “Bloody hell, are you alright?”  
“Yeah, but that bloody Zabini was trying to-”  
“Trying to what?” Professor Noble strode over to the boys, concerned. “What happened?”  
“Zabini just cast a stinging hex on me!” Ron exclaimed. “He-”  
“No, he didn’t Ron.” Harry sighed. “It was me.” At this point, Hermione had come over and she regarded Harry with shock. “It was an accident,” Harry added quickly. “I was aiming at Zabini and I got distracted so the direction of the spell changed.”  
“Well, in that case, I don’t think any sort of punishment is needed.” She leaned down and helped Ron to his feet. “I’ll bring Ginger here to the Infirmary and…” She glanced around the room, catching sight of a petrified Zabini. “Since pretty boy is indisposed, I guess you and blondie will be partners for the remainder of class.”   
Harry was about to open his mouth to object but she interrupted him.   
“Actually, that reminds me. Class?” The rest of the students who hadn’t noticed Ron’s fall turned to look at the Professor. “Normal dueling rules for the rest of the period. Neither party is the attacker or defender, just good old fashioned dueling. I’ll be back soon.”  
With that, she walked Ron out of the room, leaving Harry, and his objections, behind.   
“Well?” Malfoy sneered, making his way over to Harry. “Scared Potter?” He saluted.   
“You wish.” Harry glared at him and returned his salute. They took a bow and immediately afterwards Malfoy shot at Jelly-legs jinx in Harry’s direction. “You don’t waste any time, do you Malfoy?”  
Harry blocked the jinx and sent one of his own. This duel felt very different than fighting with Zabini. Malfoy moved with an intensity that forced Harry to think quicker, to be better. Harry thought the blonde Slytherin looked rather like a cat when he was dueling; his motions, while exhibiting a certain grace, were fast and dangerous.   
So far, neither boy had actually suffered from any jinxes or hexes. Every spell had either been blocked or deflected.   
“You know,” Harry said through gritted teeth as he barely dodged a stinging hex. “You’re not half bad at this Malfoy.” The blonde froze, a look of utter disbelief on his face. Harry took this as an opportunity to disarm Malfoy. “Expelliarmus!”  
Malfoy’s wand flew out of his hands, and Harry lowered his own wand, already grinning in his victory.   
“And to think I was complimenting you,” Harry gloated, leaning down to pick up Malfoy’s wand. The Slytherin glared at Harry for a moment before he started to smirk.   
“Is that really the only spell you know, Potter?” Harry just barely had the chance to look up before he was knocked backwards. Malfoy’s hand was outstretched like… like… like he was performing wandless magic.   
Harry gripped his own wand and threw a stunning spell Malfoy’s way, but the blonde easily dodged it. He managed to scramble to his feet in time to see Professor Noble return into the classroom. Strangely, when he glanced back to Malfoy, the Slytherin had his hands lowered and was making no effort to attempt to protect himself. Harry took the opportunity and stunned him, but somehow felt as if Malfoy was letting him win.   
He shook away that thought: Malfoy would never willingly let Harry win in anything.   
“Brilliant Harry! Absolutely brilliant!” Professor Noble strode over to the pair of boys and clapped Harry on the back. Harry felt his face turning red with embarrassment. He got enough flattery from the students at Hogwarts; he didn’t need it from the teachers too. “Not that I expected anything less from you, but it really is incredible to see you in action.” Malfoy glowered at him, and Harry did his best to ignore it. “On that note, how about you kids pack up and go to lunch early. Don’t want you to overwork yourselves. Great job today! No homework this week!”  
The students began to pack up and stream out of the classroom. Harry ambled to his desk slowly, lost in thought. Malfoy was winning; he would’ve won. But he didn’t. He gave up. Why would he do that?   
“Harry? You alright?” Hermione gently laid a hand on Harry’s shoulder. Harry grabbed his bag and started towards the door.   
“Yeah, I must just be hungry or something,” he lied.   
“I’m going to go check on Ron before lunch. You coming with?” Hermione followed Harry out the door and fell into step beside him.   
“Of course.”   
“Oh! Let me bow down and kiss your feet Saint Potter!” Harry heard a distinctly haughty voice say. Once he got into the hall, he turned to see Malfoy across the way with his friends. “Seriously, the Professors worship him too? Bloody pathetic.” Parkinson and Zabini snickered. Harry’s blood boiled. As if it wasn’t irritating enough for his Professor to start singing his praises in the middle of class, now he was being mocked for it. Before he could stop to think, he had shoved Malfoy against the stone wall, his forearm pushing into the Slytherin boy’s chest.   
“Do you want to say that to my face, pretty boy?” Harry glared at Malfoy, his green eyes burning into grey. The initial expression of shock that overtook the blonde boy’s face slowly faded to confusion. “What?”  
Harry released his grip on Malfoy. The taller boy stumbled away from the wall and straightened out his robes. Then he proceeded to stare at Harry.  
“What?” Harry repeated, growing increasingly frustrated with Malfoy’s lack of response.   
“Did you just call me pretty, Potter?” His face twisted into a sneer of disgust, but his eyes were wild with bewilderment.   
“That’s what you’re choosing to focus on?” Harry couldn’t help his amused tone.   
“Sod off.” Malfoy shoved his way past Harry and caught up with his friends down the hall.   
“What was that about?” Hermione asked as her and Harry made their way towards the Infirmary. “I’ve never seen Malfoy that flustered before.”  
“Not sure.” Harry shrugged. “It was pretty funny though.”  
The rest of the day passed rather uneventfully. Ron was fine; Harry’s stinging hex had barely grazed him. History of Magic was as boring as it had ever been, and even detention was quieter than usual. Malfoy refrained from speaking to Harry at all, and Harry returned the favor.   
By the time Harry returned from detention, the rest of the boys in his dorm were already asleep. It had become part of Harry’s nightly routine to read an entry in Sirius’ diary before falling asleep if his mind was still churning. So, he reached under the bed and retrieved the book. He flipped to the next entry.   
November 3rd, 1976  
Dear Very Manly Not Diary,   
My hair is not too long. Does it fall in my face whenever I lean over? Yes. Does it get in the way during Quidditch practice? Yes. But it is NOT too long. My hair is my pride and joy and the day I cut it to a “suitable” length is the day that the world will come to an end.   
Luckily, Moony knows how to braid hair. Evans taught him. I’ve never liked her but I never thought that she’d actually try to turn Remus into a girl. Anyway, this skill has actually come quite in handy: I now have my own personal braid doer. Braider?   
I hate to admit it, but they are rather practical, not to mention that I look devilishly handsome with a braid. Although, I think that has less to do with the hairstyle and more to do with me…   
Harry closed his eyes, feeling the familiar sensation wash over him. When he opened them, he was surprised to find that he hadn’t moved at all. He was still inside the Gryffindor boy’s dormitory, but now, it was light outside, and the marauders were positioned all around the room studying.   
Sirius leaned over his textbook, his long, black hair immediately falling into his face. He groaned and tossed it over his shoulder in an attempt to get his hair out of the way, but it promptly fell back down. He threw his book onto the floor and flopped onto his bed, giving up on his homework. Remus glanced over at him and snickered.   
“Maybe if you cut your hair, it wouldn’t fall into your face so much,” he suggested, turning a page in his book.   
“Cut my hair?” Sirius stared at Remus incredulously. “Don’t be ridiculous Remus. My hair is the most attractive thing about me.” He sat up in his bed and made a point of tossing his hair in Remus’ direction.  
“If you say so.” Remus rolled his eyes and spared Sirius a glance. “You know you could always tie it back in a braid or something.” Sirius gave him a look.   
“Moony, do I look like a man who knows how to braid hair?”  
“I could do it for you,” Remus shrugged, looking back down at his novel.   
“You can braid?” Peter piped up from across the room. James also peered up from his work to look at Remus, not bothering to hide the smirk that was making its way on his face.   
“Sure, Lily taught me,” Remus said, raising his eyebrows at James, who in turn scowled.   
“So that’s what you and Evans do together?” Sirius laughed, pushing himself off of his bed. “Sneak off and braid each other’s hair? And to think James was worried you’d steal her from him.” Harry looked at his father, who was laughing, but still eyeing Remus warily.   
“Don’t be silly, Pads.” Remus waved his hand at Sirius. “My hair is much too short for Lily to braid. Your’s, however, isn’t.”  
Sirius waltzed over to Remus’ bed and plopped himself opposite his taller friend.   
“I bet you just want the opportunity to run your fingers through my gorgeous mane.” He shook his head wildly, his hair flying all directions. Remus snorted.   
“It was just an offer,” he said, returning his attention to his book. “You don’t have to take me up on it.”  
Quiet fell over the boys; only the sound of the occasional page flip broke the silence. Sirius got up and grabbed his own book before returning to Remus’ bed. He tried to concentrate on his reading, but once again, his hair kept falling into his face. Harry chuckled as Sirius repeatedly tried to shake it away to no avail. Finally, he scouched closer to Remus and peered at his tawny-haired friend over his book.   
“Moony,” Sirius began begrudgingly. “Will you braid my hair?”   
“What’s the magic word?” Remus taunted, keeping his eyes focused on his book. Sirius snatched it out of his hands and threw it onto the bed.   
“You’re a bloody git.”   
“That’s definitely not the magic word.” Remus raised an eyebrow and smirked. Sirius rolled his eyes.  
“Fine. Please?” He batted his eyelids at Remus with an exaggerated pout.   
“Will you do your own homework for the next week?”   
“We both know that’s never going to happen.” Sirius smiled devilishly.   
“It was worth a shot,” Remus said, shrugging. He got up so he was now kneeling on the bed. “You have to turn around though.”   
Sirius obliged and Remus grabbed the front sections of his hair and began to weave them together into a braid.   
“You don’t by any chance have a hair tie, do you?” He leaned over Sirius’ head. Sirius looked up at him and shook his head. “Keep your head still Pads. James?” James peaked up from his homework to look at Remus. “Could you go down to the common room and ask Lily for a hair tie?”  
“Ugh, I have to use one of Evans’?” Remus flicked Sirius’ ear, making him shut up. Harry’s father nearly jumped out of his seat at the opportunity to talk to Lily. He dashed out of the room and Peter laughed at his eagerness.   
“I swear,” he said. “If Lily told him to jump off a bridge, I’m pretty sure he’d do it.”  
“That he would, Wormy.”  
With that, the memory ended and Harry was back in his bed, diary in hand. He quietly tucked the book away and fell asleep moments later.


	14. Lessons in Love Potions

Chapter 14

When Harry rushed into the Great Hall for breakfast the next day, having overslept, he was only slightly surprised to find Luna sitting at the Gryffindor table. He sat next to her and shot her a smile. Harry hadn’t seen much of his whimsical friend since the start of term: he’d been too busy and Luna didn’t seem to be around the castle too often.   
“How’re things Luna?” he said, grabbing a muffin off the table.   
“Quite well actually,” Luna answered, her voice lilting. “I’ve been spending quite a lot of time in the forest with the Thestrals. Some other students have started coming with me.”  
“Really?” As far as Harry could remember, most students were terrified at even the prospect of the creatures existing, much less interacting with them.   
“Really. I think they’re probably less scary when you can see them.”  
“And the Nargles?” Harry asked, succeeding in keeping a straight face; he was only trying to be polite. He might not believe in Nargles, but Luna certainly did.   
“They’ve been away,” Luna sang. “But don’t worry, I’m sure they’ll be back soon.”  
“I thought Nargles were bad?” Harry wrinkled his eyebrows, confused.   
“Oh no,” she said hastily. “They’re not bad. I don’t think any magical creature could be bad. They’re just quite mischievous. Sometimes they’re fun to have around.”  
“I understand.” Harry nodded, not really understanding. Luckily, Ginny slammed her bag down on the table next to Luna at that moment, interrupting their conversation.   
“Bloody Greengrass,” she mumbled angrily, aggressively rifling through her bag.   
“Ginny, you alright?” Harry peered over at her. She pulled out a sheet of parchment and shoved it in Ron’s direction, completely ignoring Harry’s question.   
“Ron,” she said pointedly. He immediately looked up and started to listen; at this point, even Ron had learned not to piss off Ginny when she got in one of her moods. “You need to memorize these plays by this afternoon. And Harry?” When she looked at him her eyes were blazing with an intensity that could’ve brought a grown man to his knees. “I don’t care what you have to do, but whatever you do, do not lose to Malfoy.”  
“Ginny,” Ron began carefully. “What’re you on about?” She sighed and rolled her eyes.   
“That Daphne Greengrass said that Slytherin could beat Gryffindor any day, and she was being so awful about it that I just couldn’t take it anymore! So I challenged her to a mock Quidditch game after classes this afternoon.”  
“What?” Ron and Harry exclaimed simultaneously. Usually they spent weeks preparing for a game, and now they had to beat Slytherin with only a few hours to prepare?  
“That’s mental!” Ron voiced Harry’s thoughts, although Harry wouldn’t have used those exact words.   
“Look,” she glared at Ron, who shrunk back in his seat. “I know it’s a bit rushed, but I just couldn’t let Greengrass go on like that, alright?” Luna placed her hand on Ginny’s arm in an attempt to calm her. Ginny took a deep breath and gave Luna a small smile. “The match is at two o’clock sharp. Don’t be late.”  
With that, she gave Luna’s hand a small squeeze and left the table. Ron ate the rest of his breakfast in stunned silence. He never did well under pressure, and Harry only hoped that this surprise match wouldn’t damage his confidence. Ron was a fantastic Quidditch player when he believed in himself, but when he didn’t, he would be lucky to block a single quaffle.   
Once they had finished breakfast, Harry waved goodbye to Luna, and went off to Charms class with Hermione and Ron.   
“Oh bloody hell,” Ron cursed under his breath. “As if this day couldn’t get any worse, there’s Malfoy.”   
Sure enough, waiting outside the Charms classroom was Malfoy, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. He was speaking to Zabini, his usual sneer replaced by a genuine smile that set Harry on edge. Catching sight of Harry and his friends, Malfoy pushed away from the wall and took a few steps towards them. He raked his eyes over Harry’s figure, leaving Harry feeling exposed, and sneered.   
“Potter,” Malfoy regarded Harry. “Nice sweater.” Harry glanced down, confused, at his choice of wardrobe. He was in a hurry that morning and grabbed the first top he could find, which happened to be one of the many sweaters Molly had knitted for him over the years. “Does it come in men’s?”  
“I think you come in enough men for all of us,” Harry said off-handedly while rolling his eyes. Expecting some kind of snotty retort, Harry was surprised when he saw Malfoy’s ears turning pink while he began to sputter.   
“Well, I think you better come in my-” Malfoy froze, realizing what he was about to say. “I mean, you better come…” His eyes were frantically flitting from side to side, as if that would help him find a way to finish his insult. Zabini offered no help, instead snickering at his friend.   
“You better come over here and say that to my face?” Hermione suggested, trying to keep her expression neutral.   
“What Granger said,” Malfoy mumbled, scowling at Harry. Luckily for him, Professor Flitwick decided to open the door at that moment and he rushed inside the classroom.   
Harry smirked and strode over to his seat. He turned and whispered to his friends.   
“I think I’ve figured out a new way to mess with Malfoy.” Ron smiled excitedly, but Hermione gave Harry a warning look.   
“What?” Ron asked.   
“Flirt with him.” Ron made a face and Hermione just sighed.   
“Harry, what are you on about?”  
“Think about it,” Harry gestured over to a still-flushed Malfoy. “Just now, and the time I called him a pretty boy, he got all embarrassed. It’s perfect because he doesn’t know how to respond.”  
“Brilliant.” Ron’s disgusted expression faded away, replaced by a look of awe.   
“Harry, I don’t think you should be going out of your way to mess with Malfoy. It’s immature.” Hermione glanced at Harry pointedly.   
“He started it,” Ron pointed out.   
“Listen to you two, you sound like children!” Hermione scowled and opened her book. “Honestly, you’d think you’d be grown up by now.”  
“Never,” Ron and Harry said in unison.  
After Charms, Harry departed from his friends for Potions class. Unfortunately, the only two people from Charms who were heading down to Potions were Malfoy and Zabini, so Harry made a point to lag behind the two Slytherins, wanting to avoid any unnecessary confrontations.   
Slughorn greeted the students enthusiastically when they arrived at the classroom.   
“Good morning students!” He paced around the front of the classroom. “Today we will be brewing a weak strength love potion in preparation for when we brew Amortentia.” Slughorn glanced between Harry and Ernie’s table and the Slytherin table in the back of the room. “Eventually you will need to be in groups of four, so why don’t you two in the back, Mr. Malfoy and Mr. Zabini, come over and sit with Mr. Potter and Mr… er-”  
“Macmillan.” Harry stifled a laugh while Ernie grimaced. Two years in his class and Slughorn refused to remember his name.   
“Yes, well, do come on over you two.” Slughorn waved over Malfoy and Zabini. They exchanged irritated looks before slowly grabbing their bags and shuffling over to Harry’s table. Malfoy sat next to Harry, the other available seat already having been claimed by Zabini, and slammed his potions book on the table in frustration. Zabini made much less of a show of moving; he sat next to Ernie quietly and without any complaints, although he didn’t look particularly pleased with the new seating arrangements.   
“As I was saying, most love potions share similar compositions and procedures. The purpose of today’s potion is to make you familiar with the steps of brewing a love potion, and to illustrate the effects of one.” At this, several students around the classroom began to exchange nervous looks. “You heard me correctly, students. In order for you all to understand the gravity of love potions and their effects, you will each be testing your love potions on each other.”   
Harry looked towards Ernie, eyebrows raised, and mouthed, Is he mental? Ernie shrugged and his eyes flitted towards Zabini and Malfoy worriedly. Harry also risked a glance at the blonde Slytherin next to him, and found that his face was twisted into an expression of utter rage. Harry gulped and quickly averted his gaze towards the table. He only hoped he wouldn’t have to test Malfoy’s potion; he was pretty sure the Slytherin would try to poison him.   
“Not to fret, students. Not to fret. This is a short acting potion, so the effects should only last for about a half-hour, which means we will spend the first hour and a half of class brewing, and last half-hour testing our creations.” None of the students looked at all reassured by this fact, but Slughorn continued on, ignoring their lingering concern. “You can find the instructions on page 67 of your textbook. You have ninety minutes starting now.”  
Harry quickly flipped to page 67 in his book and began to gather the needed ingredients. By the time he had fetched everything he needed, Malfoy was already chopping up the peppermint and adding moonstone to his cauldron. Harry sighed. Even despite his less-than-friendly feelings towards the Slytherin boy, he had to admit that Malfoy was an expert potions maker. His nimble fingers moved quickly and efficiently, almost seeming to move of their own accord.   
“So incompetant that you have to cheat off me, Potter?” The sound of Malfoy’s pretentious drawl pulled Harry out of his thoughts. “Are you really so thick you can’t read simple instructions?”   
Harry was about to shoot some nasty remark back when he stopped himself and smirked: he had a new method of torturing Malfoy.   
“Not cheating,” Harry remarked, keeping his voice light. “Just admiring your handiwork. You really are quite brilliant at Potions, Malfoy.”   
The Slytherin’s jaw dropped. Ernie stared at Harry, his expression halfway between shocked and disgusted. Even Zabini looked mildly surprised at Harry’s compliment. Harry’s smile broke into a full grin as Malfoy’s entire face flushed bright pink and he began to sputter affrontedly.   
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he spat, eyes bewildered. It took all of Harry’s self-restraint to keep from bursting out in laughter. Instead, he kept a straight face and leaned in closer to Malfoy, who pulled back slightly in surprise.   
“I’m just saying, you’re rather good at Potions is all.” A lightbulb lit inside Harry’s head, and he lowered his voice as he spoke his next words, so that only Malfoy would be able to hear him. “And you have very nice hands.” He let his eyes wander down to the blonde’s hands, which were now balled in angry fists. “Very good for preparing ingredients. I wonder what else they’d be good for…” Harry lifted his gaze back up to Malfoy’s eyes and winked suggestively.   
At this, Malfoy drew back so suddenly that he actually fell out of his chair, landing with about as much grace as a drunken Hippogriff. Harry bit back his laughter, but Ernie certainly did not. He was bent over, wheezing, and even Zabini chuckled slightly before coming around to Malfoy’s side of the table to help his friend up. Malfoy glared at Zabini, who stopped laughing, before taking his hand. Zabini lifted him to his feet and then sat back down next to Ernie.   
“Is there a problem here gentlemen?” Slughorn had ambled over to their table and was now standing directly behind Malfoy with his hands in his pockets.   
“No problem sir,” Malfoy mumbled towards his hands. “Just slipped.”   
“Very well then, continue working.” As the professor walked away, Malfoy glared at Harry. If looks could kill, Harry would certainly be dead a thousand times over.   
The four students spent the rest of their time working on their potions without speaking. Occasionally, Harry would remember the image of Malfoy’s flustered face and bit back a smile, but other than that, he was productive. By the end of their given hour and a half, his potion was finished, and for the first time all year, it looked exactly as it was supposed to. Harry beamed; finally, he’d gotten something right.   
Slughorn wandered over to each table to observe the potions, making sure no one had accidentally brewed something potentially lethal instead, as they were to be testing the potions on each other. So far, everyone’s potions had passed the inspection, except for Terry Boot’s, which resembled a green sludge and was immediately disposed of. He came over to Harry’s table and looked inside each of their cauldrons.   
“Acceptable,” he said to Ernie. “Looks about right.” He nodded towards Zabini’s cauldron. “Absolutely textbook, per usual Mr. Malfoy,” he remarked, rather begrudgingly towards Malfoy. “Exemplary!” he exclaimed when looking at Harry’s potion. He waltzed away from the table and back towards the front of the room, where he clapped his hands and began to address the class.   
“Now that you’ve all brewed an acceptable potion,” He glanced towards Terry. “Well, almost all of you,” he added. “You will be sampling your creations. Please take a vial of your potion and pass it to the person to your right. They will be the one testing it.”  
Harry looked to his right. There sat Malfoy, looking as horrified as Harry felt. He was about to give his rival a love potion. It was bad enough for the girls in Gryffindor house to be fawning over him, now he had to worry about Malfoy as well?  
On the other hand, Harry thought. This would certainly embarrass Malfoy more than any sort of flirting possibly could. Harry started to grin evilly at the thought of the blonde Slytherin mooning over him. He would be able to hold this over Malfoy’s head for the rest of time. Malfoy’s eyes began to grow wide at the smile overtaking Harry’s face.   
“Go on then,” Slughor urged the students, snapping Harry back into reality. “The quicker you drink the potions, the sooner the effects will wear off.”  
That seemed to be the exact encouragement the students needed, as one by one, they started to down their small pink vials. Malfoy took the vial from Harry’s outstretched hand, grimacing, and drank the potion in one swallow. Harry drank Ernie’s potion and waited for the effects to take over.   
Soon enough, a warm, bubbly feeling started to rise up Harry’s body. It began at the tips of his toes and worked its way up to the top of his head. It was a rather nice feeling, awfully like being enveloped in a comforting hug or a particularly warm blanket.   
When he looked across the table towards Ernie, he could feel his heart pounding in his ears. Was it even possible for a person to be so beautiful? He’d never noticed it, but Ernie’s dark blonde hair looked so soft, so touchable in the dim light of the classroom. His face was rounded and still contained traces of his boyish youth. Harry quickly became entranced in Ernie’s hazel eyes, which contained the barest traces of blue and green that made Harry’s heart melt. He let his eyes wander down to his lips, which were quirked in a warm smile. How much he wanted to kiss those lips….  
“Ernie,” Harry breathed, his eyelids fluttering. But Ernie didn’t notice Harry’s attention; he was too focused on Zabini, who was too focused on Malfoy to notice Ernie’s staring. And Malfoy was too busy looking at…  
But Malfoy wasn’t looking at Harry. Instead, he was glaring at Zabini, eyebrows raised threateningly.   
“Blaise,” he said, warningly.   
“Draco,” Malfoy’s name rolled off Zabini’s lips like a prayer. “You’re so-”  
“No no no, stop that! Stop it right now!” Zabini had started to lean across the table, lunging for Malfoy’s face. The blonde stepped out of reach just in time. Harry turned his attention away from them and back towards Ernie.   
“Now,” Slughorn cleared his throat in an attempt to get the class’ attention, but most of the students were too fixated on each other to notice. “The intensity of the potion will begin to subside in a few minutes, leaving only a residual sort of infatuation that will wear off by the time class ends.”   
The next few minutes were spent in utter chaos. All around the room, students were chasing each other, attempting to steal a kiss or to just simply be close to their “lover.” Harry found himself prancing around Ernie like an excited puppy.   
“Ernie, you’re so perfect,” Harry said, a dopey grin covering his face. “Won’t you please notice me?”  
“What?” Ernie briefly turned around and regarded Harry with a distracted smile. “Oh, hello Harry.” To Harry’s dismay, he immediately whipped his head back around towards Zabini. “Blaise? I can call you Blaise right? After all, you are the love of my life and if I can’t call you by your first name then-” Ernie’s words were interrupted by a loud wail emanating from the usually composed Zabini.   
“But why, Draco?” He fell to his knees, pulling at Malfoy’s robes. From what Harry could see, it appeared that he had actual tears in his eyes. “Why don’t you love me?”  
“Get off me, you pathetic prick!” Malfoy shook his leg away from Zabini, who clawed helplessly at the ground in front of him. “Merlin! Has everyone lost their bloody minds?” He caught sight of Harry staring at him and raised his eyebrows expectantly. “What are you looking at, Potter?”  
It took a few more minutes for the intense effects to subside. It was now about fifteen minutes until the end of class, and while Harry’s heart still jumped every time he looked at Ernie, he no longer felt the urge to grovel at his feet and beg for his love, which he considered an improvement. He concluded that it was a rather odd feeling: he knew his attraction to Ernie was only the result of the potion, but that didn’t stop the goofy smile that spread over his face whenever he looked at the Hufflepuff.   
“How goes it gentlemen?” Slughorn had wandered over to their table once again and regarded the boys with a smile.   
“Alright,” Ernie responded, not taking his eyes off of Zabini.   
“If by alright you mean absolutely awful, then yeah,” Malfoy muttered under his breath.   
“And you Mr. Malfoy?” He raised an eyebrow at the blonde Slytherin. “I’ve noticed you don’t seem all that affected.”  
“That’s because Potter botched it, as usual.” Harry couldn’t be bothered to be offended. He was having enough trouble even just paying attention to Slughorn when Ernie was sitting right across from him.   
“I don’t believe so.” Slughorn scratched his chin and thought for a moment. “I believe Harry brewed the potion nearly perfectly, but there must be some reason-” He stopped suddenly, mouth gaping, and looked back at Malfoy with wide eyes. Slughorn’s eyes flitted between Harry and Malfoy, leaving Harry feeling like he was missing something. Malfoy looked at Slughorn with a mixture of warning and fear, and Slughorn closed his mouth and cleared his throat. “I see, I was mistaken. Mr. Potter here must have bungled up a bit at some point during the brewing process, but no matter, he gave a noble effort so he’ll receive full marks regardless.”  
Malfoy let out a breath that Harry didn’t realize he’d been holding. Harry shrugged and turned back to admire Ernie. There were still a few minutes left of class, and he was going to take advantage of all the time that he could get.   
Class ended at noon precisely, leaving Harry feeling quite embarrassed. He, and many of the other students, rushed out of the classroom as soon as they were dismissed, making a point to avoid the former object of their affections. He ambled down to the Great Hall to meet his friends for lunch.   
When he arrived, the entire Gryffindor Quidditch team was huddled at the end of the table, engaged in some kind of heated discussion. Harry sat down next to Ron.  
“-and I already had plans this afternoon!” Harry heard Dean saying to Ginny. “I was supposed to have a study date with-” he stopped rather suddenly, glancing around the table. Ginny’s face softened.   
“Look, I’m sorry, alright? But the match is already on, there’s nothing I can do about it now.” Dean nodded reluctantly and there were no further complaints. “The match officially starts at two, which means we have a little under two hours to practice and make sure that we kick Slytherin’s sorry arse.”  
The team finished lunch in record time, and before they knew it, they were out on the pitch, flying up a storm. By the time the Slytherins ambled down to meet them for the match, Harry knew one thing for certain: there was no way he was going to lose to Malfoy.


	15. "You're Cute When You're Angry"

Chapter 15

“Is your team quite ready Weasley?” Daphne Greengrass hissed coolly, her arms crossed menacingly over her chest. The rest of the Slytherin team stood behind her, all with their chests puffed out and their chins raised. Harry faintly recognized most of the players, with the exception of a short, squat, brunette who looked no older than twelve. “Or do you need more time to practice?” She raised a condescending eyebrow, and Harry watched as Ginny struggled to keep calm. If he had learned anything from his years knowing Ginny, it was that she hated to be patronized.   
“We don’t need any more time,” she responded through gritted teeth. “As long as you’re ready to lose.”   
“I wouldn’t count on it.” Greengrass smirked. Harry shifted his eyes to see Malfoy standing near the back of the Slytherin cluster. He stood slightly apart from the other players, his noble face reflecting Greengrass’ arrogance. Harry couldn’t help but notice how tall he was; of course, he’d always known Malfoy was taller than most of the boys at Hogwarts, but he’d never really thought about it until now.   
“I brought Luna here to judge and make sure that there’s no dirty playing.” Ginny eyed Greengrass suspiciously and gestured to the stands, where a lone Luna Lovegood sat and waved towards the players. Greengrass scoffed and looked like she was about to object when Malfoy interrupted her.   
“No offense,” Malfoy stepped forwards, pushing past two surly Slytherin boys in the middle of the group. The Slytherin team watched him, their eyes narrowing. It was then that Harry realized Malfoy really hadn’t been exaggerating about the Slytherin house being wary of him. “But do you really think Luna is qualified to referee?” It did not escape Harry’s, or Ginny’s, notice that Malfoy referred to Luna by her first name.   
“And what is it exactly that you are trying to imply about Luna?” Ginny placed emphasis on her friend’s name, her tone dangerous. All of the other players on the field tensed at the sound of Ginny’s bubbling anger, but Malfoy didn’t even flinch.   
“Relax Weaslette,” The use of that particular nickname did not help to calm Ginny down. “I’m merely saying that she’s not really an expert when it comes to Quidditch. Not to mention the fact that she’s hardly impartial.”   
“And I’m sure you have plenty of friends in the other houses that could referee instead?” Ginny said, glaring at Malfoy. His eyes narrowed and Greengrass began to speak before he could respond.   
“Whatever, Weasley.” Malfoy returned to his spot in the back of the group. “Let’s just get started.”  
The teams assembled into position. Ginny beckoned Luna over to the pitch, and she ambled over obligingly. She adjusted her spectrespecs, which were beginning to dangle off the tip of her nose.   
“Good afternoon everyone,” Luna said dreamily, her eyes floating over the crowd. “Lovely day, isn’t it?” The players shifted uncomfortably, impatiently waiting for her to blow the whistle that would signal the start of the game. Luna’s eyes wandered over to the Slytherin team, and she seemed to ponder them for a minute. When she did finally speak again, Harry was surprised to hear her say Malfoy’s name: his first name.   
“Draco,” Luna leaned towards the Slytherins and Harry saw her squint behind her tinted glasses. “Did you know you have quite a few Wrackspurts buzzing around your head? You should probably do something about that.” Malfoy didn’t respond, but Luna didn’t seem particularly bothered by this. “You all are probably waiting for me to start the game, aren’t you?” Everyone nodded.   
“That’d probably be best Luna, if you could just-” Ginny was interrupted by Luna’s loud whistle, and as soon as the players heard the sound, they were flying up into the air.   
While the game started off fairly calm, it didn’t take long for things to escalate. The Slytherin team had been given a penalty twice now: once for the fact that one of their beaters intentionally hit a Bludger straight towards Ginny, and the second being for Greengrass’ attempt to shove Pavarti off her broom.   
Harry, meanwhile, waited at the corner of the field, watching the game for any sign of the fluttering golden wings of the Snitch. In fact, his eyes were too busy searching the pitch for the tiny gold ball that he didn’t notice Malfoy fly over next to him.   
“I’m surprised you’re still trying.” Harry heard a haughty voice on his left remark. He whipped around and there was Malfoy, lounging on his broom. “We both know Slytherin’s going to win this one.”   
Harry frowned. It was true; even with the penalties, Slytherin had managed to pull a hundred points ahead of the Gryffindors. But if Harry could find the Snitch, there was still a chance the Gryffindors could win: Malfoy was just trying to psyche him out. Harry smirked. Two could play at that game.   
“Well, if they do, it’ll only be because of your expert playing.” Harry smiled and Malfoy frowned, blushing furiously. He squinted in Harry’s direction, trying to figure out if he was joking.   
“What are you playing at, Potter?” Malfoy asked, his tone cautious. His face was twisted into a sort of half-sneer, as if he couldn’t decide whether to be irritated with Harry or not.   
“Nothing, nothing at all,” Harry lied. Just then, he spotted the snitch just beyond Malfoy’s left shoulder and smiled. “You know, your hair sort of shines in the sunlight.” The blonde boy instinctively glanced up and ran a hand over his gelled back hair. “It’s not a bad look on you.” Malfoy’s face darkened to nearly a shade of purple and Harry was satisfied. It would take him at least a few seconds to recover from Harry’s compliment.   
Without wasting an instant, Harry dived to Malfoy’s left and began to chase after the snitch. He didn’t look behind him, but he assumed Malfoy was just now realizing what Harry had been up to, given that he heard an angry voice shout “Potter!” over the wind buzzing in his ears.   
Unfortunately for Malfoy, it was too late. The snitch was only a few inches out of Harry’s reach. He leaned forward and secured his fingers around the tiny gold ball, winning the game for the Gryffindor team.   
Harry did a victory lap around the field, feeling especially smug about beating Malfoy, before returning to the ground.   
“I knew you wouldn’t let me down, Harry.” Ginny patted him on the back once he hit the ground.   
“I don’t think I could’ve lived with myself if I’d let Malfoy win.” Harry smirked and spared a backwards glance towards the other end of the pitch, where the Slytherin boy looked as if he was being reprimanded by the rest of the opposing team. He felt a twinge of guilt in his stomach, but he ignored it and instead turned back towards his own team. “Celebration in the Gryffindor common room?” Harry suggested.   
A collective cheer sprang up from the team. They all changed out of their Quidditch gear and headed up to Gryffindor tower, where they interrupted a few studying fifth years with all their excitement. The fifth years got up, grumbling, and left the common room for the library. Harry would feel bad, but the Gryffindor common room was rarely a good place to study; the fifth years should’ve known that by now.   
“I’m assuming from all the noise that you won the match?” Hermione asked, standing at the edge of the staircase. She spoke mostly to Ron, but she also glanced over at Harry and Ginny.   
“Yeah,” Ron said, rather breathlessly. He’d been whooping and screaming all the way up the stairs. “It was wicked. Harry saved all our arses. He’s the best Seeker Hogwarts has ever seen!” The team murmured in agreement.   
The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur of celebration. At some point, Dean returned from the dormitory with a rather large bottle of firewhiskey, but most people didn’t indulge; they didn’t want to risk showing up to dinner drunk. Harry also declined, knowing that he had a detention later that night. Although, he briefly considered taking part; dealing with Malfoy would probably be a lot easier drunk.   
Eventually, it was nearly seven o’clock, and it was time for Harry to head down to the Potions classroom for his detention. He bid the rest of the partygoers ado and reluctantly left Gryffindor tower.   
Malfoy was already there when Harry arrived, shuffling through a stack of papers. For once, the blonde seemed relaxed, unbothered, content even. Harry stayed at the corner of the classroom and watched him for a moment, curiosity overwhelming his mind.   
After seven years of knowing the boy, Harry assumed he knew Malfoy fairly well. He knew that he got up in arms any time anyone mentioned his family; he knew that Malfoy’s upper lip twitched slightly whenever he was about to insult someone; and there was his latest discovery that Malfoy’s ears were a clear indicator of his moods. He knew exactly what Malfoy looked like when he was angry, defensive, boasting, depressed, and in pain. But now that he was thinking about it, Harry had no clue what Malfoy was like when he was happy; not when he’d won a fight or landed an especially hurtful insult, but what he looked like when he was really, truly happy.   
Malfoy wasn’t happy now, but he didn’t seem unhappy either, Harry observed. He let his eyes wander over Malfoy’s face, memorizing every inch of his expression. He noticed that when the Slytherin boy wasn’t snarling or sneering, he wasn’t unattractive. Actually, Harry reluctantly admitted to himself, Malfoy was rather handsome. He’d never seen it before, but with his sharp jaw that softened at the edges, his strong upturned nose, his high sculpted cheekbones, and smokey grey eyes, Malfoy was easily one of the most attractive students at Hogwarts.   
Harry’s eyes widened as he realized what he was thinking and shook his head as if trying to rid himself of his thoughts. He cleared his throat, but when Malfoy’s peaceful expression fell as soon as he saw Harry, he instantly regretted making his presence known.   
“Slughorn not here yet?” Harry attempted to ask casually, but for some reason his voice felt raspy.   
“He’s been here and gone.” Malfoy glared at Harry, his face hard. “You’re late, you know.”   
“Sorry,” Harry muttered, immediately questioning why he was apologizing to Draco Malfoy of all people. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to get his wits about him. “The party up in Gryffindor tower went a bit long,” Harry said, smirking at the way that Malfoy’s face contorted with jealousy.   
“Celebrating a bloody practice match?” The blonde boy scoffed. “That’s pathetic. Taking the only chance to celebrate you can get, since you know that you’ll lose the real match?”  
“Watch it Malfoy,” Harry retorted, forgetting about his new strategy for messing with the Slytherin boy. Unfortunately, Malfoy actually relaxed at Harry’s response and settled more comfortably into his seat.   
“Slughorn gave us these to grade before you arrived,” Malfoy said, passing over a stack of parchments to Harry. He sat down and started looking through the papers. Great, Harry thought to himself. First year potions essays. “And just so you know,” Malfoy added, eyes glinting dangerously. “I would have beat you if you didn’t play dirty. I thought the Golden Boy was above such cheap tactics, but I suppose I’ll have to reevaluate now.”  
“Whatever do you mean?” Harry blinked innocently. “It’s not my fault you got distracted.”  
“You know, regardless of what you might think, Potter,” Malfoy snarled. “I didn’t buy my way onto the Slytherin team.” He sat up in his seat, the few inches he had on Harry now becoming evident. “I’m a fantastic seeker. I’d venture to say I’m even better than you, though that’s not saying much.” His stormy eyes were bright and fierce, and his pointed features were sharpened even further by his anger. Harry watched the muscle in his jaw tense while he gritted his teeth.   
“You’re cute when you’re angry,” Harry said, smirking and making a point to look Malfoy up and down. He internally winced at the fact that he was hitting on Malfoy, but the Slytherin’s reaction was well worth it. The blonde’s eyes widened and his mouth fell open. He quickly shut it and started to blink rapidly, a bright red flush coloring his cheeks and ears.   
“Wh-what?” he stuttered, leaning back and away from Harry.   
“I said,” Harry moved in closer. “You’re cute when you’re angry.”   
“I-you… but…” Malfoy stood up rather abruptly, shaking the table, and took a step backwards. “Why would you say that?” he shouted. Malfoy huffed and moved to the other side of the room, making a point of avoiding Harry’s eyes.   
Harry grinned. Yes, flirting with Malfoy was admittedly odd and a little bit humiliating when he stopped to think about it, but seeing the Slytherin boy that flustered was worth that price.


	16. Half-gay?

Chapter 16

It was the Friday before the first Hogsmeade trip of the school year when Harry found that he couldn’t sleep. Because of this, he continued on in Sirius’ diary, flipping to the next entry.   
November 3rd, 1976  
Dear I’m-too-tired-to-address-this-right-now,   
Wormtail and I pulled the most incredible prank today. After the whole Snivellus incident at the beginning of term, we’ve been secretly planning how to get revenge. Of course, pranking is a lot easier with Prongs and Moony, but with Remus being a Prefect and James trying to get on Lily’s good side, neither of them wanted anything to do with our mischief. Like Remus likes to say, “If I didn’t see it, I can’t report it.”   
We sent him a love letter (of course, addressed from Evans, since everyone knows that the greasy haired git fancies her, Merlin knows why). Peter even faked her handwriting and everything. Anyway, the letter told Snivellus to meet Evans by the Great Lake, and when he got there, Petey and I dropped color-changing hair potion on him. So now, he’s not only got the greasiest hair I’ve ever seen, but also the pinkest!  
The best (and worst) part is that no one knows it was us. Minnie has her suspicions of course, but she can’t prove anything, which means me and Wormy get out scot-free. Of course, this also means we get none of the credit. Alas, fate is a cruel mistress.  
It’s the day before the full moon, which means Moony couldn’t sleep. He never sleeps the night before his transformation. I don’t think James or Peter have noticed. I’ve started staying up with him, at least part way through the night, over the last few months. I’d never tell him why my sleepless nights seem to coincide with his, and he hasn’t said anything yet, but I’m pretty sure he’s figured it out by now. Moony’s smart like that…   
Harry closed his eyes and waited for the spinning sensation to cease. When he opened them and looked around, he found that he was back in the Gryffindor boy’s dormitory. This time, the lights were off and the room was silent, save the soft snoring coming from the bed in the corner. Harry peered around the room, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness. If everyone was asleep, why would Sirius put this memory in his diary?  
Suddenly, a shadowed figure threw the blankets off of himself and crept across the room, taking care to not awaken the other boys. The figure had distinct long, black, way hair, and Harry knew he was looking at his godfather. Once he reached a bed across the room with a soft light emitting from the closed curtains, he leaned in and whispered:  
“Moony, you awake?”  
Harry heard a rustle come from behind the curtains and he began to tiptoe towards the bed when he remembered that this was a memory and he didn’t have to be careful about waking the boys.   
“Yes,” a quiet voice whispered back. “And I’m performing very inappropriate activities behind these curtains.” Harry could practically hear the smirk in Remus’ voice.   
“Really?” Even in the darkness, Harry could make out Sirius’ raised eyebrow. A soft chuckle came from the bed.   
“No, you perv, I’m reading.” A hand pulled the curtains open, revealing an obviously exhausted Remus. His hair was disheveled and stuck out at odd angles, striking Harry as looking like he stuck his fingers in a light socket. The bags under his eyes were more pronounced than usual, and he looked far older than sixteen. “Come on in,” Remus said, waving Sirius inside with his book still in hand. He scooted to the other side of his bed to make room for his friend, and Sirius clambered in. Harry followed, sitting at the foot of bed so he could observe the interaction.   
“What are you reading?” Remus had placed the book face down on the bed, and Sirius had now picked it up and began to inspect it.   
“Twelfth Night. By William Shakespeare.” The scarred boy pointed to the cover, which detailed both the name and author of the book. Sirius frowned and flipped to a random page, obviously not actually reading it. Remus leaned back against the headboard and watched his friend.  
“Didn’t he write that other one with the two lovers?” He peered up at Remus, squinting as he tried to remember the name. “Ronald and Julia?” Harry snorted, but Remus merely rolled his eyes.   
“Romeo and Juliet,” Remus corrected. “And yeah, that was him. Why?”  
“I think we read it in Muggle Studies last year.” Sirius relaxed, laying down next to Remus and folding his hands behind his head, the book now abandoned on the sheets.   
“What’d you think?” The taller boy turned his head slightly to look at Sirius and smiled.   
“I didn’t like it,” Sirius stated matter-of-factly. “Everyone died.”  
“That’s why it’s called a tragedy, Pads.”  
“I think life is already tragic enough,” Sirius remarked, shrugging. Harry moved closer to the two boys, not wanting to miss anything. “Shouldn’t have to read about it too.”  
“That’s actually a valid critique,” Remus admitted.   
The long haired boy shifted down so his head was resting on Remus’ shoulder. Remus scooted closer so their bodies were fully touching and leaned his head against Sirius’. When Sirius’ hair started to fall into his face, Remus brushed a few strands back casually, and neither boy seemed at all bothered by their closeness.   
Harry narrowed his eyes at the boys. He felt like he was missing some crucial piece of information here. Him and Ron never acted this way, never sat so close together with casual touches passing between them. From what he’d seen of Sirius and James, they didn’t act this way either, and they were as close as brothers according to everyone that knew them. What made Remus and Sirius different?  
“So, are you ready for tomorrow night?” Sirius asked, breaking the silence and derailing Harry’s train of thought. Remus tensed up at the question, but relaxed as Sirius started to trace on the back of his hand absentmindedly.   
“Yes Sirius. Just like I am every time you ask,” he responded, sighing. “It does happen every month.”  
“That doesn’t make it any less terrifying,” Sirius objected. Remus turned his head slightly to look at Sirius, his expression guarded. Sirius’ eyes widened and he quickly continued. “It’s not that! You know that’s not what I meant.” Remus seemed reassured and faced away from his friend. Sirius focused his attention on Remus’ hand, which had now flipped so their palms were hovering together. “It’s just… it’s scary because…” Sirius swallowed thickly, unable to finish his sentence.   
“Because?” Remus lazily intertwined his fingers with Sirius’.  
“Because I never can be sure that you’re going to be okay,” Sirius mumbled. Remus smiled and gave the shorter boy a slight nudge in the side.   
“I’ve ended up alright every other time, so I think I’ll be fine,” he reassured his friend, releasing his hand. “Besides, I always have you three to make sure I don’t rough myself up too much.”  
“That’s true.” There were a few moments of quiet before Sirius lifted his head off of the scarred boy’s shoulder and spoke. “Remus?”  
“Mmm?” Remus tilted his face towards Sirius, blinking tiredly.   
“Can I ask you a question?” A smile tugged at Remus’ lips.   
“Well, you’re going to ask whether I say yes or no, so go ahead.”  
“Who are the four people you’ve shagged?” Remus’ eyes widened comically and Harry let out a bark of laughter. Admittedly, that mystery had been puzzling Harry as well; Remus didn’t seem like much of a player.  
“Merlin, Padfoot. That’s the question?” Remus slid down so he was laying flat on the bed while laughing. He blinked up at Sirius, who was frowning.   
“You never told us!” he protested, flicking Remus’ nose. The scarred boy batted his hand away and chuckled some more.   
“Who are the two people you shagged?” Remus shot Sirius’ question back at him, only unlike Remus, Sirius didn’t hesitate to answer.   
“Clarissa Clarkson and Mary MacDonald,” he said casually, fiddling with a strand of Remus’ hair. Harry remembered the girl from Wizard’s Truth and wondered if she was the Mary Sirius was talking about.   
“Clarissa…” Remus didn’t seem remotely taken back by Sirius’ quick response. “Was she the Hufflepuff with the bangs?” He lifted his hand and gestured towards his forehead as if pantomiming bangs.   
“No, that was Alysha.” Sirius shook his head. “Clarissa was the really short one.”  
“Oh, I liked her. She was quite nice,” Remus remarked. Neither of them mentioned, or even seemed to take notice, of the fact that Sirius’ fingers were now running through Remus’ hair as if they had a mind of their own. “When did you…” Remus trailed off, looking up at Sirius. Luckily, Sirius seemed to understand what he was asking and nodded as he answered.   
“End of last year. Clarissa was first and then Mary was at the-”  
“The end of term party!” Remus cut him off, a lightbulb going off in his head. “So that’s why you snuck off so early, I always wondered.” A comfortable silence fell over the room for a few moments. Remus glanced up at Sirius expectantly, propping himself up on his elbows. “And?”  
“And what?”  
“How was it?” Sirius furrowed his eyebrows, thinking. He opened his mouth several times as if he were about to speak, but decided against it. After about the fifth time, he finally managed to say:  
“Wet.” Remus burst out laughing and fell back onto the bed, clutching his chest. Harry couldn’t help but join in, wiping away the tears forming at the corners of his eyes. Sirius punched Remus in the arm, and the taller boy only proceeded to laugh harder. “Don’t laugh at me!”  
“I’m sorry Pads,” Remus wheezed, having only barely gotten control over his breathing. He took a deep breath and continued on, his grin still intact. “But that’s just… I mean, Merlin. And to think you’ve got the entire school convinced that you’re some player.”  
“I am a player!” Sirius shoved Remus teasingly. “I’ll have you know that I’m quite the ladies man!” He flipped his hair over his shoulder dramatically and Remus snorted.   
“Whatever you say Sirius,” he said sarcastically, rolling his eyes. Sirius slumped down so he was laying by Remus’ side and crossed his arms over his chest, staring at the ceiling.   
“It just felt… wrong.” Remus tilted his head to look at his black-haired friend. “I dunno how to describe it.” Sirius shrugged.   
“Maybe you were doing it wrong?” Remus teased, smirking.   
“She seemed to like it.” The comment didn’t sound arrogant or boastful coming out of Sirius’ mouth; he stated this very matter-of-factly, perhaps even sounding a bit puzzled.   
“Have you ever considered that she might have been faking it?” Remus asked, eyebrow raised. He rolled over and propped himself up on his arms so he was looking down at Sirius.   
“That’s a thing?” Sirius’ eyes went wide.   
“Yes, Sirius, that’s a thing.”  
“Oh Gods!” Sirius covered his face with his hands, groaning. “What if I’m horrible in the sack?”  
“I’m sure you did fine,” Remus reassured him, placing a delicate hand on his shoulder. Harry shifted, suddenly experiencing the uncomfortable feeling that this wasn’t a moment he was meant to see. “Maybe neither of them were the right person?” the scarred boy suggested, his tone gentle.   
“Don’t tell me I’m one of those people who has to be in love to enjoy sex.” Siris glowered, clearly not a fan of this concept.   
“I’m afraid that may very well be the case.” Remus smiled at the shorter boy before turning his attention to his hands.   
“Ugh,” Sirius moaned. He nodded up at Remus and raised his eyebrows expectantly. “Well, what about you?”  
“What about me?” Remus asked innocently, still looking at his hands.   
“Who are the four people you’ve shagged? That is how this conversation started,” Sirius insisted. Remus sighed and his shoulders slumped. “Come on, Remus, I’ve already humiliated myself, it’s only fair that you tell me.”  
“You’re not going to give up until I give you an answer, are you?”   
“Nope.” Sirius smirked and flipped onto his side so he was facing his lanky friend. He stared relentlessly until Remus eventually gave in.   
“Fine,” Remus said, rolling his eyes. He folded his hands behind his head and rolled onto his back as he thought for a moment. “You’d only know one of them, the rest are Muggles,” he continued apprehensively. Sirius remained silent, forcing Remus to keep speaking. “It’s Patricia Alderman. She’s a year above us in Ravenclaw.” When Sirius showed no signs of recognizing the name, Remus added: “I think she’s actually on the Quidditch team.” The black haired boy pondered for a moment before his face lit up with recollection.   
“Wow.” Sirius let out a long whistle. “She’s a catch, Remus!”  
“Surprised?” He lifted a scarred eyebrow, a smile tugging at his lips.   
“No, not surprised. Just impressed.” Sirius rolled back so he was facing the ceiling and continued to prod. “And? Who are the others?”  
“Well,” Remus began, very slowly. “There was this girl over the summer. Her name was Vanessa. She was one of my friend’s cousins. She had long, black hair and really big eyes. Very pretty. Very sweet.”  
“The other two?” Sirius asked when Remus fell silent once again.   
“Just…” If Harry wasn’t paying attention, he could have assumed Remus was simply thinking about his answer, completely relaxed. But he was paying attention, and he noticed that his face was too still, his breathing too controlled to be natural. His eyes drifted down to his sides, where Remus’ hands had involuntarily clenched into fists. He swallowed before answering. “Some Muggles.”   
“Very specific.” Sirius snorted and rolled his eyes. When Remus continued to remain quiet, Sirius turned to face him. His eyes flitted over Remus’ face and his mouth stretched into a thin line. “What aren’t you telling me?” Sirius asked cautiously, tapping his friend's shoulder.   
“What?”  
“You have that look like you’re hiding something,” Sirius explained, gesturing towards Remus’ expression. “It’s a very distinctive look, I’d know because you used it all of first and second year when you were hiding that you were a werewolf.”  
“I’m not hiding anything,” Remus insisted curtly. Sirius continued to stare at him for what felt like an eon before he gasped and abruptly sat up.   
“Bloody hell!” Remus quirked an eyebrow at Sirius’ exclamation, awaiting an explanation. “Were the other two Slytherins? Is that why you won’t tell me?”  
“What?” Remus laughed, the tension leaving his body. “No.”  
“Alright, then were they-”  
“I’m not going to tell you, Sirius,” Remus said calmly, the smile still lingering on his face.   
“Why not?”  
“I’m not one to kiss and tell, alright?” He sat up to face Sirius.   
“But you told me about the other ones,” Sirius protested, placing a hand on Remus’ knee. “Why can’t you just-”  
“Leave it, Padfoot.” Remus shoved him away gently, his expression hard.   
“But-” the black haired boy began, but his mouth closed when Remus met his eyes. The deep pools of amber had darkened dangerously; even Harry gulped at the sight.   
“Sirius.”  
“Why can’t you just tell me their names?” Sirius asked, exasperated. It seemed that Remus’ death glare could only do so much when it came to quelling Sirius’ curiosity. “ What’s so bad about-”  
“Fine.” Remus cut him off, his face still stony. He took a shaky breath, allowing himself a brief glance down before boring into Sirius’ eyes. “You want names? Richard Smith and Zachariah Pendleton.” His voice was so sharp, so threatening, that Harry didn’t process what he’d actually said for a moment. When realization hit, Harry nearly stumbled backwards on the bed. Sirius looked equally shocked, blinking rapidly.   
“But those are-”  
“Boy’s names. Yeah.” Remus averted his eyes from Sirius and moved them to where he was absentmindedly toying with the edge of his frayed sweater.   
“You’ve shagged a bloke,” Sirius stated dumbly. “Two blokes.”  
“I do believe that’s the jist of what I said.” Remus’ tone was cool and collected, but the nervous dart of his eyes betrayed him.   
“So you’re… gay?” To Harry’s relief, Sirius didn’t sound at all upset, simply baffled. He didn’t think his godfather would be homophobic, but after years growing up with the Dursleys, it was hard to imagine anything else.   
“No,” Remus corrected. Now Harry was even more confused. Luckily, Sirius voiced his thoughts exactly in his next question.   
“But you’ve slept with blokes.”  
“Yes.”  
“Did you not like it?”  
“No, I liked it,” Remus stated simply.   
“Remus,” Sirius began, speaking slowly. “I feel like I shouldn’t be the one to tell you this, but I’m pretty sure that makes you gay.” At this, Remus snorted and finally raised his chin to look Sirius in the eyes.   
“I’m not gay, Sirius.” Both Harry and Sirius cocked their heads. Remus continued. “Yes, I like blokes, but I also like girls. I’m…” He scratched his head, thinking for a moment. “Somewhere in the middle.”  
“Huh.”  
“Does it…” Remus seemed to want to look anywhere but Sirius’ face, but he forced his gaze to stay just there, watching his reaction. “Does it bother you?”  
“No, not at all.” Sirius drew backwards, looking slightly offended at the implication. “And anyways, in comparison to your other big secret, this one’s relatively tame.”  
“I suppose that’s true,” Remus mused. “But you’re sure? That you’re okay with it?”  
“Moony, if I didn’t have an issue with you being a werewolf, did you really think I’d have an issue with you being…” Sirius paused. “Half-gay?” He looked at Remus, who shrugged. “I feel like there must be a better term for it.”  
“There probably is, I just don’t know it.”  
Harry sat up, feeling the familiar pull back to reality, and squeezed his eyes shut. Soon enough, he was back in his own bed, diary in hand.   
He stayed like this for a few minutes, not reading or making any effort to put the book away, just thinking. Remus never struck Harry as being anything but straight. He quickly cycled through all his memories of his former professor, trying to remember any signs of Remus fancying blokes: there were none. The only person he knew for a fact that Remus loved was Tonks, and she certainly was not a boy.   
Was it possible for someone to like both girls and boys? Harry had never heard of it, but clearly, it happened. He wondered for a moment if there was a term for it, like Sirius said. He resolved that he’d probably end up asking Hermione about it; if anyone was going to know, it would be her.


	17. Casual Touches

Chapter Seventeen

When Harry’s eyes fluttered open, he was greeted by a stream of sunlight pouring in from the window adjacent to his bed. The rays fell onto his face, warming his skin and waking him up gently. The next sensation he recalled was the feeling of a large mass, eerily similar to that of an overgrown teenage boy, pouncing onto his bed and tackling him.   
“Wake up you great plonker!” Harry left out an “oof” as he shoved Ron off of him.   
“Bloody hell Ron! It’s Saturday!” Harry groaned, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands before reaching over to his bedside table and pulling his glasses on.   
“Yeah, and it’s also the first Hogsmeade trip of the school year!” Ron started to bounce on the bed, so Harry reluctantly threw the covers off of himself and sat up. He yawned widely. “Come on, get dressed so we can head down to breakfast, I’m starving!” Ron complained, tugging Harry out of bed.   
“You’re always starving,” Harry teased, now starting to feel slightly more awake. “Why don’t you head down without me? I’ll join you in a few minutes, but I need a shower first.”   
“Alright, but if you’re not down in fifteen, I’m coming to fetch you.”   
With that, Ron heaved himself off of Harry’s bed and waltzed out the door. Harry briefly debated falling back into bed for just a few more minutes of sleep before quickly deciding against it and heading over to the showers.   
When he emerged, freshly showered and dressed, from the bathroom, he ambled towards his trunk, where he rummaged around for a warm scarf. An autumn chill had fallen over the Hogwarts and Hogsmeaded grounds over the past few days, showcasing the change from summer to fall. He was looking through his various scarves when he heard hushed voices from the other side of the room. Glancing over, he saw that the sound was coming from Dean’s bed, where the curtains were closed.   
“-don’t want to wake up,” he listened to Dean groan. A laughter emitted from the bed, which Harry immediately recognized as Seamus. Harry chuckled silently and shook his head; after almost eight years of knowing the Chaser, it was impossible to forget his aversion to mornings. It was always a chore to get him out of bed for early Quidditch practices.   
“What if I woke you up like this?” Seamus asked, his voice sounding odd. This was followed by a distinct lack of response. “Or this.” Harry listened as Dean giggled. He’d never heard the boy giggle before. Was Seamus tickling him? “Or this.” This was followed by silence: a silence that made Harry vaguely uncomfortable for reasons that he couldn’t quite grasp.   
“Are you sure there’s no one here?” Dean said, rather breathlessly; why he was out of breath when he was laying in bed, Harry didn’t know. He felt an urge to hide, to pretend like he wasn’t there, but he quickly shrugged away this feeling: for all Harry knew, nothing had happened. He had as much right to be there as his friends.   
So when the curtains were pulled open, Harry didn’t duck or run away like he was tempted to. Instead, he shot Seamus a smile and waved. Harry’s eyes drifted away from Seamus’ face, which was now flushed bright red and towards the bed. With the curtains now yanked apart, he could see that Seamus was leaning over Dean, his hands placed on either side of his body. His gaze lowered to their hands, which were intertwined, tangled with the mess of sheets. Heat crept up Harry’s cheeks.   
“Morning,” Harry said, trying to look anywhere but their interlocked hands.   
“Morning Harry,” Dean replied when Seamus remained frozen. “Seamus here was just… er-”  
“Waking you up?” Harry suggested.   
“Yeah,” Seamus coughed out suddenly, quickly clamoring off Dean so he stood away from the bed.   
“Alright.” There was an awkward pause as all three boys avoided looking at each other. “Er- I’m going to head down to the Great Hall for breakfast now,” Harry stated when the silence got to be too much.   
“Right then.” Dean swallowed, sitting up in his bed. “We’ll probably be down in a bit.”  
“Right.” There was another moment of tension before Harry snatched the closest available scarf out of his trunk and made for the door. He could get the rest of his things later, when Dean and Seamus were no longer in the dorm.   
He scrambled down the stairs, only slowing down once he reached the door to Gryffindor tower. As he wandered the halls of Hogwarts, he let his mind wander back to the encounter: the odd roughness in Seamus’ voice when he was speaking to Dean, the giggling, the hand-holding, the fact that they were practically on top of one another. The only thing he found he could compare it to was the dynamic between Sirius and Remus in the diary.   
Am I missing something? Harry found himself wondering for the second time in twenty-four hours. He and Ron were best friends: they would go, and had gone, to hell and back for each other. But as far as Harry could remember, the most physical contact they’d ever shared was a hug, which was nothing like the casual touches that seemed to pass between Seamus and Dean, or Remus and Sirius.   
Growing up around the Dursleys and all of Dudley’s awful friends, Harry knew that such physical affection between two boys wouldn’t be tolerated. But perhaps things were different in the wizarding world? After all, Harry had spent the first eleven years of his life as a Muggle, a Muggle without any friends no less; there was a chance that he simply never understood how friendship was supposed to work. Harry committed to trying to be a better friend to Ron, and Hermione, for that matter.   
The Great Hall was bustling with activity by the time Harry got there. He sat down next to his friends and they scooted over, making room for him.   
“Took you long enough,” Hermione complained, although she was smiling. “I was about to send Ron up to fetch you.”  
“Yeah, I ran into Seamus and Dean while I was getting ready,” Harry attempted to say casually, still puzzled by his encounter with the two boys.   
“They’re still up there?” Ron rolled his eyes. “If they don’t get down here soon, they’ll miss breakfast.”  
“Maybe you should go and bring them down?”   
“No, I don’t think that’s necessary,” Harry said hastily. “I think they said something about getting something from the kitchens later on.” Of course, they hadn’t said any such thing, but Harry had an odd feeling that the two boys would rather be left alone this morning.   
“Honestly,” Hermione scoffed. “You’d think they’d have learned a thing or two. I can’t believe they’re still taking advantage of the house elves like that! They have no right to barge in there and demand for food!” Harry looked down at his plate, not particularly wanting to admit that he’d been to the kitchens several times over the past month.  
“‘Mione, you don’t really have to demand for food, they just give it to you,” Ron said, placing a hand on her shoulder. Harry flinched when she shrugged him off. Even though they were together now, Ron and Hermione still fought regularly, leaving Harry as the intermediary party.   
“Because they don’t know any better!” Hermione exclaimed, eyes blazing.   
Harry poked his food around his plate for a few minutes while Ron and Hermione argued. He’d never experienced it himself, but he liked to think that watching his two friends fight was a bit like watching your parents get into a tiff.   
“What do you think, Harry?” Hermione asked, pulling Harry out of his thoughts.   
“I think…” He paused, thinking of a response, as he wasn’t sure what exactly he was being asked to give his opinion on. “That you’ve both made excellent points.”  
“You haven’t listened to a word we’ve said, have you?” Ron sighed.   
“‘Fraid not.” Harry took a bite of his scrambled eggs and smiled apologetically. When Hermione turned back to Ron as if she was going to restart their argument, he interjected. “So where should we stop by today?”   
Ron happily took up this new conversation, obviously eager to escape another fight with his girlfriend.   
“Well, we have to go see George and Charlie.” Harry nodded.  
“And I need to stop by Scrivenshaft’s Quill Shop,” Hermione added reluctantly.   
“And Honeydukes and the Three Broomsticks are always a must.” His friends murmured in agreement and Harry relaxed. Yet another fight carefully avoided.   
“We should start heading over to the Gates if we want to get there in time,” Hermione said, standing up from the table. Ron and Harry joined her and soon they were off walking down the familiar path to Hogsmeade. They eventually caught up to Ginny, and Hermione talked with her ahead of the two boys.   
Ron was rambling on about a new strategy he was working on in Wizard’s Chess, and Harry walked by his side. He glanced down at their hands, which brushed together occasionally while they moved. If there was any time to try being a more affectionate friend towards Ron, Harry knew now was the time. He reached down and grabbed Ron’s hand as casually as he could manage.   
For the first second or so, Harry didn’t notice that Ron had stopped speaking; he was too busy trying to understand the appeal of holding hands with your friends. When he held hands with Cho and Ginny, there was a kind of rush to it that made it feel exciting and fun. But there was no such rush with Ron. The redhead’s hand was slightly clammy and his fingers felt fat when they were locked with Harry’s. Harry supposed the contact wasn’t all that bad, but he still wasn’t any closer to understanding why anyone would willingly do this with their friends.   
“Er- Harry?” Ron’s voice pulled Harry out of his thoughts, and when he looked up, his friend’s face was contorted into a confused expression.   
“Yeah?”  
“Are you alright?” Ron looked as stiff as Harry felt.   
“Yeah.”  
“Then…” Ron glanced down and gestured towards their interlocked hands, raising an eyebrow. “Is there a reason why you’re holding my hand?”  
“... not particularly.” Harry shrugged, feeling his face growing hotter with embarrassment by the second. “Why, am I doing it wrong?” He released Ron’s hand and stared down blankly at his own.   
“Not quite sure what you mean, mate,” Ron confessed, frowning.   
“I’m so confused.” Harry’s eyebrows knit together as he spoke.   
“Yeah…” Ron rubbed the back of his head awkwardly. “Me too.”  
“Sorry, it’s just…” Harry trailed off, trying to think of a way to explain. “I mean, Dean and Seamus are always… touching, and in all the memories, Sirius and Remus are always touching.” Ron’s eyebrows shot up and his eyes went wide. Harry quickly realized he should probably clarify what he meant by ‘touching.’ “ It’s not anything like that, it’s just casual… things, and I thought, I dunno, I thought maybe that was just something friends did?”  
The only sound was the crunch of their shoes against the gravel as they walked. Ron stared at Harry, blinking.   
“Harry, we’ve been friends for how long now?” Ron asked suddenly, breaking the silence.   
“Going on eight years…”  
“And have I ever complained that we don’t… touch enough?” Ron spoke as if he were talking to a small child, which Harry couldn’t help but be slightly annoyed by. Still, he considered Ron’s question.  
“No…” Harry ran his hand through his hair as the realization hit him. “Merlin, I’m a bit of an idiot, aren’t I?”  
“A bit, yeah,” Ron said jokingly, nudging Harry with his elbow. “Look, Harry, you’re my best friend.” Harry was reassured by the smile on Ron’s face. “But the only person I really want to hold hands with is Hermione. I’m sure there are loads of people who do that sort of stuff with their friends, but we aren’t those kind of people.”  
“What kind of people?” Harry asked warily. Memories of the Dursleys and the slurs they threw out in conversation flooded Harry’s head.   
“Bloody hell, Harry, I dunno,” Ron said, slightly exasperated. “Touchy-feely people? Unless, you… want that sort of thing?” He softened his tone and watched Harry.   
“No, I really don’t.” Harry smiled. Now he knew that he was just overthinking things. “Don’t get me wrong, you’re my best mate, but I don’t really want to… hold your hand.”  
“Good.” They laughed and caught up with Hermione and Ginny, who were currently in an animated discussion. Once Ron and Harry joined them, however, the talking died down immediately.   
“Hello boys,” Ginny greeted them, her face flushed slightly pink.   
“What were you two talking about?” Ron asked, squinting. As much as the red-head had improved when it came to his jealousy, he still hated feeling excluded.   
“Just… girl problems,” Ginny stated vaguely, glancing over at Hermione.   
“You really don’t want to know, Ron,” Hermione reassured him. Ron still looked slightly confused before realization dawned on him.   
“Oh, yeah… right. Don’t really need to hear about… that.”   
“So, where to first?” Harry asked.   
“George said that they’re busiest in the afternoon, so I reckon we should go there first? Avoid the crowd?”  
“Sounds good,” Hermione agreed. “Are you coming with us?” She looked over at Ginny.   
“Yeah, Luna’s staying back at Hogwarts and Neville’s got a date.” She flicked her hair over her shoulder.   
“Neville’s got a date, huh?” Ron smirked. “I knew he had it in him.”   
“He’s out with Hannah,” Hermione confirmed.   
“And why’s Luna not coming today?” Harry was happy for Neville, of course, but him being on a date wasn’t of any particular interest to Harry. After all, girls had been swarming around Neville since the start of term, it was only a matter of time before he had a girlfriend.   
“She’s taking care of the Thestrals.”   
“I don’t think those buggers need anyone taking care of them.” Ron shuddered at the thought of the large, black, skeletal horses. He understood his friend’s aversion to the creatures, though Harry found a certain beauty in them.   
Once they got to Hogsmeade, they set off for Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes, where George and Charlie greeted them enthusiastically. According to them, business had been booming, and the shop was doing quite well. No one mentioned Fred, but his absence weighed on them like a blanket. Harry couldn’t imagine what George was going through: it seemed as though everywhere he looked, there was Fred. Luckily, he didn’t seem too down; there were moments when his smile was slightly too shiny to be real, and times when his laughter sounded forced, but overall, he looked the best he had been in months.   
After visiting George and Charlie, Hermione and Ginny split off to Scrivenshaft’s Quill Shop while Harry and Ron went to Honeydukes. Several chocolate frogs and sugar quills later, all four were sat at a booth in the Three Broomsticks.   
“So who’s going to get the butter beers?” Ron said once they had all got comfortable. Hermione glanced at Harry.   
“Nose goes!” she exclaimed, pressing her finger to her nose. Harry followed suit, and Ginny quickly figured it out and joined, leaving Ron confused.   
“The last person to touch their nose has to go and get the drinks,” Harry explained, keeping his finger on the tip of his nose.   
“How was I supposed to know that?” Ron grumbled, but he was already standing up to go over to the counter. “I can’t carry all four glasses by myself.”  
“I’ll help,” Ginny said, joining Ron. “I was second to last anyways.”   
They walked over to the counter and Harry turned to his friend, who was currently rummaging around in her bag.   
“Hermione?” Harry said.  
“Mmm?” She acknowledged Harry but didn’t look up from her bag until she pulled out a small coin purse and set it on the table.   
“Can I ask you something?” he said once she was finished.   
“Of course.”  
“Do you know if-” He stopped himself, unsure exactly how to ask his question. “I mean, is there a word for… is there a term for someone who likes both boys and girls?”  
“I’m not entirely sure what you mean, Harry.” She narrowed her eyes at Harry and he began to fidget with his collar.   
“Er-” Harry said incoherently. He paused, thinking for a moment. “Well,” he began. “If you’re a boy who likes boys, then you’re, you know, gay. So if you like both then-”  
“Oh! You mean like as in…” Hermione didn’t finish her sentence, but Harry nodded, knowing what she meant. When she stayed quiet, he rephrased his earlier question.   
“So you’ve never heard of a word for it.”  
“No.” She shook her head. “I can research it, if you’d-”  
“Bisexual,” A voice interrupted from behind Harry. He turned around to see Ginny holding two butterbeers. She slid into the booth next to Hermione and placed one of the glasses in front of her. “Sorry, I couldn’t help but overhear,” she explained.   
“So there is a word for it?” Harry clarified.   
“Yeah, bisexual.” For some reason, Hermione gave Ginny a very strange, sort of approving look before turning to Harry.   
“Why do you ask, Harry?” she asked gently, her brown eyes brimming with curiosity and compassion.   
“It’s just something I read in…” He debated whether or not he should reveal where he got his information. Eventually, he decided there was no reason to hide it. “In Sirius’ diary.”  
“Oh, was he-”   
“No, not him.” Harry cut Hermione off, shaking his head. “But…” He fell silent. Even though Remus was no longer alive, it felt wrong somehow to reveal his secret. Harry decided it was best to keep that part of the past to himself for now. “Sorry, I just don’t know if it’s something I should really be telling you. Not that I don’t trust you, it’s just, I don’t know, it does seem rather private.”  
“It’s alright,” Ginny reassured him, placing a hand on his arm. “You don’t have to tell us if you don’t want to.”  
“Tell us what?” Ron appeared and handed Harry a glass of butterbeer.   
“Just something I read in Sirius’ diary is all.” He shrugged and took the glass. He took a sip of his butterbeer, ignoring the looks Hermione was shooting him from across the table.   
The conversation moved on, and the four of them discussed Quidditch (Hermione mostly sorted through her new parchment during this time), their speculations on Neville’s date, and their thoughts on the new professors. After about an hour, Harry found himself yawning every few minutes. The day was so full of activity that he forgot he only got a few hours of sleep the previous night. The rest of his friends were still full of energy, and were currently discussing heading over to the Shrieking Shack.   
“I think I’m going to walk back to Hogwarts,” Harry announced, starting to gather his things.   
“Is something wrong?” Hermione asked. He waved his hands, dismissing her concern.   
“No, I’m fine. Just tired is all. I want to get in a nap before dinner and detention.” He slipped his bag onto his shoulder.   
“Do you want us to come with you?” Ron offered.   
“No, no, don’t worry about me. You lot have fun. I just didn’t get much sleep last night.”  
“Alright. See you at dinner?” Ginny smiled.   
“Course.”   
With that, Harry waved goodbye and began walking back to Hogwarts, the ground crunching beneath his feet and the cool wind chilling his face. Although it was only a few weeks into October, the air already had a distinct wintery chill to it. It reminded him of Christmas and the fact that he’d get to see Teddy and Andromeda over the holidays.   
He reached the Hogwarts grounds, and as he walked by the forest, he heard a familiar sing-song voice floating above the trees. Without thinking, he started moving towards the forest, forgetting about his nap; after all, spending time with Luna could often be just as relaxing as actually resting.   
He spotted a flash of her blonde hair amongst the brush and opened his mouth to greet her before a second voice shocked him into silence. He froze and stayed where he was, hiding behind a thick cluster of bushes and peered ahead.   
“Shouldn’t we give them names?” Malfoy asked, stroking one of the Thestrals. Luna handed him a bucket and he took it from her without question.   
“I don’t think we should.” She watched the creatures trot over to the Slytherin boy as he offered them raw meat in his outstretched hand. “They might already have names of their own.”  
“So?” Malfoy snorted, and Harry felt the urge to punch him. What on Earth was Luna doing in the middle of the forest with Draco Malfoy?  
“So imagine if some strange creature started calling you Rolf,” she suggested. Malfoy wrinkled his nose in disgust.   
“Rolf is a bloody awful name.”  
“Really?” she mused. “I think it’s quite charming.”  
“You would, you’re named after the moon.” While clearly an insult, his words had no fire to them. If it wasn’t Malfoy speaking, Harry might’ve even thought he was joking around.   
“And you’re named after the stars,” Luna stated.   
“Everyone in my family is,” he said, shrugging and turning back to face the Thestrals. One of the foals trotted up to him and nudged its head against his knee. He reached down and gave it a gentle pat on the head before throwing a chunk of raw flesh into the clearing, letting the young Thestral run after it.   
“If you have children, will you name them after the constellations?” Luna asked, taking the bucket back from Malfoy. He nodded as he handed it to her.   
“Aquila if it’s a girl and Scorpius if it’s a boy.”  
“I like them,” she said thoughtfully, gazing up at the sky as if she could see the constellations in the daylight.   
“Not that I’ll likely have children, though,” he murmured. Harry barely caught his words, and he was sure Luna hadn’t heard him at all until she spoke.   
“You’ve put a lot of thought into their names for someone who doesn’t want children.” Malfoy rolled his eyes.  
“It’s not that I don’t want them, it’s…” Malfoy trailed off, looking down at his shoes. “I just don’t think I’d be a very good father, alright?” When he looked back up, his expression was hard. Luna seemed unfazed, and regarded him with her vague, dream-like smile.   
“Why not?”  
“Haven’t exactly had the best example,” he spat, crossing his arms over his chest. It was a different kind of anger than Harry usually saw in Malfoy. This wasn’t him being mean or petty. Underneath his distinct snarl, he was hurt.   
“You could always use him as a cautionary tale.” When Malfoy lifted an eyebrow, Luna clarified. “An example of what not to be.”  
“I suppose you have a point,” he conceded. They fed the Thestrals in silence for a few moments.   
“I don’t think I want kids,” Luna said suddenly. “I like children, but I think I’d rather travel the world. Maybe I’ll go searching for Crumple Horned Snorkacks.”  
“Luna, for the last time, they don’t exist.” Again, his tone lacked its usual menace.   
“You really ought to have more faith, Draco, it makes life a lot more interesting.” She set the bucket down on the ground and took a seat on the forest floor. Oddly enough, Malfoy followed suit, sitting down a few feet away. He didn’t seem entirely pleased with the idea of getting dirt on his trousers, but didn’t say anything. Once he was settled, he responded.   
“I don’t know about you, but I could certainly do with my life being a little less interesting.” Luna watched him for a few seconds before her eyes went wide and she reached into her jacket pocket.   
“Oh, I almost forgot. Here.” She extended her arm towards Malfoy. In the palm of her hand was a small jewel pendant. From where Harry was standing, it looked like an emerald gemstone with a silver dragon circling around it.  
“What’s that?” Malfoy tentatively picked it up and dangled it in front of his face, examining the necklace from every angle.   
“I made it for you.” Luna smiled. “Green is your favorite color, right?”  
“No actually, it’s not.” He shot her a sharp look. “Just because I’m a Slytherin doesn’t mean that my favorite color is automatically green.”  
“Well then,” Luna thought for a moment. “I suppose I should take it back.” She reached for the pendant but Malfoy quickly snatched it out of her grasp, clutching it against his chest.   
“No!” he protested. He realized he was almost shouting and calmed down. “No, it’s- I’d rather keep it.” His voice was soft as he ran his thumb over the dragon carving and smiled. “Even if it is the wrong color,” he added, making sure to sound as haughty as possible.   
“What is your favorite color?” Luna asked.  
“Red.”  
“Hmm,” she pondered. “That’s odd, since red is the color of-”  
“Gryffindor, I know.” Malfoy rolled his eyes and slipped the necklace over his head. He tucked it into the collar of his shirt, so all that was visible was the thin, silver chain around his neck.   
“It’s also the color of blood,” Luna said dreamily. Harry turned in the Slytherin’s direction in shock as Malfoy began to chuckle. It was nothing like the jeering laughter Harry was used to. This kind of laughter was low and soft. Harry couldn’t help but admit that it was a rather nice laugh.   
“You’re a lot darker than people think, Luna,” he said, smirking.   
“Is that a bad thing?”  
“No.” He smiled: a real, genuine, non-threatening smile. “I like it.”   
A few minutes passed in oddly comfortable silence. Harry watched Malfoy fiddle with his necklace. It seemed as though he couldn’t help the small smile that crept onto his face while he ran his fingers over the emerald. As he regarded the Slytherin boy, Harry noticed his clothes: he was out of uniform. In fact, he was wearing what looked like Muggle clothing.  
It wasn’t that Harry hadn’t seen Malfoy wear something other than the Hogwarts uniform before, but he couldn’t recall ever seeing the boy in something so casual. On the rare occasion that Harry encountered Malfoy outside of school, he wore dark, sharp, formal outfits, meant to impress and intimidate.   
Now, he sat on the forest floor wearing a white button up that was loosely tucked into his dark blue jeans, which were belted with a dark brown belt, and cuffed at the ankle to show off his matching mahogany shoes. Granted, even while dressing down, Malfoy looked like he had stepped out of a style magazine, but seeing the blonde boy in jeans was not something Harry thought he would ever experience.   
“Hello Harry.” Harry nearly jumped when he realized that Luna was speaking to, and looking directly at, him. While he wasn’t entirely sure how she knew he was there, he knew he couldn’t hide anymore.   
“Hi Luna,” he said, nodding at her. When he turned around to face the Slytherin, he was standing and regarding Harry with an expression like stone. “Malfoy.”  
“Potter,” he said curtly.   
“What are you doing here?” Harry looked back at Luna.   
“Draco and I are feeding the Thestrals.” She gestured towards Malfoy. It did not escape Harry’s notice that Luna, once again, used Malfoy’s first name. “Would you like to help?” He glanced between the two blondes, deciding that the only way to figure out exactly why Luna and Malfoy were together feeding Thestrals was to stick around.  
“... sure.”  
“I should head back to the castle,” Malfoy said abruptly, picking up a small, silver bag that was sitting at the base of a large tree and slinging it over his shoulder.   
“So soon?” Harry raised his eyebrows.  
“Yes Potter, sorry if hanging out with you and Loony Lovegood isn’t exactly my cup of tea.” Harry’s hands balled into fists at the sound of Luna’s cruel nickname. Luna, on the other hand, wasn’t at all offended. If anything, she seemed amused by the insult. “Goodbye Luna.”  
“Goodbye Draco. It was nice talking to you,” she said, but Malfoy was already moving away. Harry frowned. The entire reason he agreed to stay was to figure out what was going on between the Slytherin boy and his friend.   
“Well, it’s a shame to see you go,” Harry said, hoping that if Malfoy was just going to leave, he could at least mess with him first. Sure enough, the blonde boy whipped around, confused. “But I love to watch you walk away.” Harry made sure to make a point of looking Malfoy up and down. The Slytherin boy turned pink and continued towards the castle, practically running away. With that out of the way, Harry turned to Luna. “What was-”  
“You know, you really shouldn’t toy with Draco like that.” Luna was frowning slightly as she gazed at Harry with her pale blue eyes.   
“You call him Draco?” Harry asked, ignoring her comment.   
“It is his name.” Harry felt the urge to face-palm, but he resisted.   
“Why were you with Dra-Malfoy?” he corrected.   
“Well, I was coming out to feed the Thestrals and-”  
“Wait,” Harry said suddenly, registering what Luna had said earlier. “What do you mean ‘toy with him?’”  
“You’re trying to mess with him,” Luna explained. “You should stop, it isn’t very nice.”  
“Me. Nice. Draco Malfoy?” Harry stared at his friend, blinking rapidly. “Luna, do you hear yourself?”  
“I can hear quite well actually.” She smiled.  
“Are you…” Harry nearly shuddered at the possibility. “Friends with him?”  
“I like to think so,” she said, nodding.   
“Why? How?”  
“He’s not as bad as you think.”  
“He’s Draco Malfoy!” Harry threw his hands in the air exasperatedly.   
“And you’re Harry Potter.” He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. Luna blinked. “Sorry, I thought we were stating the obvious.” She cocked her head to the side slightly.  
“Luna,” Harry began, trying to appeal to Luna’s rationality. She was, after all, a Ravenclaw. “Do you think that Malfoy might be trying to manipulate you? Or maybe he’s trying to get something from you?” She seemed to consider this for a moment before giving just the slightest shake of her head.   
“I don’t think so. I don’t have anything he’d want.” A Thestral approached the pair and Luna absentmindedly began to pet the beast. As he watched her stroke the skeletal creature, Harry realized that even if Malfoy was trying to take advantage of her somehow, Luna could take care of herself. After all, this was a girl who had seen death, fought in war, and was now practically cuddling with one of the most terrifying creatures known to wizards. As much as he might want to, she didn’t need protecting.   
“Just… be careful, alright?” He gave her a small smile.   
“What’s the fun in that?” Luna said, glancing up at him. Harry laughed and shook his head. His eyes flitted back to the castle, and he realized the sun had already started to set, which meant that it was nearly dinner. So much for his nap.   
“I should also go back to Hogwarts.” He looked back at Luna. “I want to grab something to eat before detention.”   
“Oh right.” The Thestral wandered away from her and she gazed after it. “Draco’s told me all about your detentions together.”  
“Has he?” Harry asked.   
“Mmhm,” she confirmed.  
“What does he say?” Luna turned back to face Harry, her periwinkle eyes gazing into his emerald ones.   
“I don’t think he’d like it if I told you,” she said simply. Harry waited for her to explain, but she didn’t. Instead, she said: “Weren’t you going to head back to the castle?”  
“Right.” Harry nodded and waved as he began to walk towards the school. “Bye Luna.”  
“Goodbye Harry.”


	18. Happy Place

Chapter Eighteen

After dinner, Harry had to immediately rush off to Slughorn’s classroom for detention. While he was still slightly tired from his previous night’s lack of sleep, he was feeling slightly more energized after a full meal. He managed to burst into the classroom right as it hit seven o’clock, just barely arriving on time.   
Malfoy was tapping his foot impatiently beside Slughorn, who was bent over his desk writing something. Harry cleared his throat to announce his presence and Slughorn whirled around and greeted him.   
“Ah, Harry, my boy! Glad to have you! For a minute, I was worried you wouldn’t show.” Malfoy was glaring daggers at Harry, and Harry gulped and tried to ignore it.   
“Sorry, professor, I was running late.”  
“No matter, no matter. You’re here now.” He gestured for Harry and Malfoy to follow him, and reluctantly they did. Harry continued to steal glances at the blonde boy as they trailed behind the professor: he was still suspicious of Malfoy’s friendship with Luna. “For today’s detention, I’m going to need you boys to organize my potions cupboard.” Harry resisted groaning as he looked around the small room: it was a complete mess. “One of the Nifflers for Care of Magical Creatures found its way into my classroom and decided to search the potions cupboard for gold, causing a bit of chaos in the process.”  
“A bit?” Harry heard Malfoy mumble under his breath. He bit back a laugh.   
“You’ll have to do it without wands of course. Wouldn’t be a punishment if you had wands.” He started walking out of the room, but turned around to face them once he reached the doorway. “I should be back around ten o’clock to dismiss you. Best of luck!”  
He sauntered off, leaving the two boys alone. Malfoy moved to start sorting through the ingredients, and handed Harry an armful of various jars and glasses full of odd plants.   
“Start with these,” he stated, shoving more containers at him. “Separate them by color, and let me know once you’ve finished.”  
Malfoy seemed particularly tense this evening, so Harry simply did as he was told and began to sort the jars, even though he was itching to prod the Slytherin boy about Luna. As suspicious as he was, he really wasn’t in the mood to get in a fight this evening, especially given that in the last duel they had, Malfoy should’ve won.   
That was another thing he needed to ask the blonde about. At the time, he thought it wasn’t possible, but looking back, Malfoy threw that fight. Malfoy let him win; Harry needed to know why. Of course, that was a discussion for another day.  
A few minutes passed and Malfoy seemed to have loosened up a bit. Now maybe he won’t attack me the minute I speak to him, Harry thought to himself. Just as he was about to open his mouth, there was a crash at his feet.   
“You idiot!” Now Malfoy was yelling at him, pointing at him with a sprig of what looked like rosemary, but couldn’t be rosemary, because it smelled putrid. “You clumsy idiot!”  
While he was sorting, Harry had accidentally brushed a jar of shredded Boomslang off of the shelf, letting it smash to the floor.   
Harry began to bend down to gather up the pieces of broken glass but Malfoy caught him by the arm and stopped him. His long, delicate fingers wrapped around Harry’s wrist, his fingertips pressing against his skin. His grip was firm, but not aggressive, and Harry almost jumped at the contact: it suddenly felt as if electricity was rushing through his arm.   
Harry's shock must’ve shown because Malfoy immediately released him and took a step backwards.   
“Don’t try to clean it up, you’ll cut yourself.” His voice sounded off. Harry took the opportunity to mess with his rival.  
“Awww, are you worried about me?” Harry winked and grinned at the immediate blush that flooded Malfoy’s cheeks. This would never get old.   
“No! I- I mean….er-” Malfoy took a few more steps backwards, until he was pressed against the wall. He took a breath and refocused, his face still burning. “I’m going to go get my wand to clean this up.”  
“We’re not supposed to use our wands though,” Harry reminded him. He doubted Slughorn would notice if they used magic, but he felt the need to disagree with Malfoy out of sheer habit.   
“I’m also fairly certain we weren’t supposed to break anything, Potter,” He spat, gesturing down at the broken glass. Harry reluctantly bowed his head in agreement. “Stay here and don’t destroy anything else while I’m gone.” With that, Malfoy exited the closet, closing the door behind him.   
Harry didn’t realize it before, but the room was awfully small. And cramped. And dark. And in that darkness, the room looked eerily similar to the closet he grew up in.  
He tried to let his eyes adjust to the darkness, but it was taking too much time and Harry began to panic. He tried to find the door to no avail, instead only managing to flail around helplessly in the dark.   
He sank to his knees and crawled into a corner as the walls started to close in, suffocating him. The air felt thick and soon Harry found that he couldn’t breathe. He squeezed his eyes shut and jammed his head between his knees, trying to count to ten. The blood pumping in his ears was getting too loud, and all he wanted to do was scream, was to cry for help, but it felt like his chest was being crushed and he couldn’t make a single sound.   
“Potter?” He heard a voice say, but it was almost like he was underwater and the person speaking was above land. “Potter, if this is some kind of prank, I swear to Merlin, I will end you.” Soon, the sound of footsteps approached him. “There you are. Are you just going to sit there and make me do all the work? Get off your arse and help me, you git. Just because you’re the Chosen One doesn’t mean you’re exempt from helping. After all, you’re the one who actually earned this detention.”  
Harry focused on Malfoy’s voice, as taunting as it was, and tried to tune out the sound of his own heartbeat in his ears. It was helping slightly, but there was still the crushing weight on his chest and his inability to breathe.   
The scent of spearmint and stone wafted over Harry as he heard the footsteps stop and felt someone leaning down over him. He blinked his eyes open and looked up to see Malfoy, whose usually hard face was riddled with confusion and some other emotion Harry couldn’t quite discern.   
“Potter?” Harry wanted to speak, but he knew it was no use. If he couldn’t breathe, there was no way he could talk. “Potter? What are you… Merlin, are you crying?”  
Harry reached up to his face, and when he pulled away his hand, it was wet and trembling.   
“I don’t know- Do you… should I… Slughorn?” Malfoy ran a hand through his slicked back hair, messing it up and making the front pieces fall into his face. Harry shook his head, knowing that words would betray him. He was already rocking back and forth crying in front of his former nemesis, he didn’t need his Professor to see him like this too. He only prayed Malfoy wouldn’t use his vulnerable position as an opportunity to attack.   
“Can’t…” Harry choked, trying to speak in between sobs. He didn’t notice he was crying this hard until now. “Can’t… breathe.”  
Suddenly Malfoy was on his knees, leaning down so he could look Harry in the eyes. Harry tried to shuffle away, but his back was already against the wall, so he only ended up curling further in on himself, squeezing his eyes shut.  
“Hey,” a soft, completely unlike Malfoy voice called to Harry. “Hey, Har- Potter,” Malfoy corrected himself, but Harry hadn’t even noticed the slip of his first name in his current state. “Hey, can you look at me?”  
Harry obeyed, blinking his eyes open. Malfoy was still blurry, but he realized looking at him was better than the crushing blackness behind his eyelids.   
“Can I put my hands here?” He gestured towards Harry’s shoulders. Harry opened his mouth to speak but Malfoy stopped him. “You don’t have to say anything, just nod or shake your head.”  
Harry nodded, and there was the weight of delicate hands on his shoulders. He felt secured to the floor as the hands pressed down, grounding him.   
“Okay, now I’m going to need you to breathe.” Harry shook his head violently. He couldn’t breathe, that was the issue. “Hey, hey, it’s okay. I know it’s hard, but I need you to try, okay? Just try. Breathe.” Malfoy inhaled a long breath and Harry tried to mimic him. The air rushed into his lungs and it felt like he was burning from the inside out. He nearly screamed but instead he followed the blonde boy, taking another deep breath in.   
“Now I want you to imagine a happy place, can you do that?” Images of his tiny childhood closet flooded his mind and Harry instinctively reached up and gripped Malfoy’s wrists.   
“Not the…” Harry croaked. “Not the closet.”  
“Not the closet then, someplace else.” One of Malfoy’s hands stayed firmly on Harry’s shoulder while the other grabbed his hand and gave it a small squeeze. “Someplace nice and… and relaxing. Somewhere happy.” Harry frantically searched his mind for such a place, but he was coming up blank. He knew he had happy places, but he couldn’t think of a single one. His breaths started to come out rapidly and panicked.   
“Can’t- can’t find… can’t find one.” His fingernails dug into Malfoy’s wrists and the Slytherin boy winced.   
“That’s fine. You just…” Malfoy’s soothing voice began to rise slightly as he glanced around the room. “What if I tell you about my happy place, how about that?” Harry gave the slightest nod and tried to think about breathing slow.   
“Okay,” Malfoy swallowed and brushed a stray strand of blonde hair out of his face. “Imagine you’re in a field full of flowers, not just flowers, the most beautiful flowers you’ve ever seen. They’re… er- purple. Lavender, I think. But they sway in the wind and smell amazing and you’re walking barefoot, but you don’t even mind because the flowers are so soft against your feet.” Harry squeezed his eyes shut and imagined running through that field, and the weight on his chest became slightly less crushing.   
“And… there are mountains in the distance. They’re purple too, with snowy white tops, even though it’s summer. And when you look up, the sky is the most beautiful shade of blue you’ve ever seen, and the sun is glowing down on you.” He felt the sun on his face and now the air didn’t feel so heavy.   
“There are clouds, but… but they’re not just regular clouds, you know? They’re puffy and pure white and, well, they’re the sort of clouds you would look up at and tell your friends what animals they look like. And there aren’t that many, only a couple, so they don’t block out the sun.” Harry’s breathing slowed down, and there were no longer tears streaming down his face.   
“And the wind is blowing ever so slightly. Just enough that you feel a cool breeze on your face, but not enough to make you cold. And… er- there are birds chirping all around, and one flies past you and it has the most brilliant red underbelly.” Harry loosened his grip on Malfoy’s wrist and relaxed against the wall. Malfoy pulled away hesitantly, but Harry tugged him back instinctively.   
“Relax, I’m not leaving,” Harry reluctantly let him adjust and move until he was seated beside Harry, the sides of their bodies pressed against each other. “I just needed to sit down, kneeling like that hurts.”  
They didn’t speak for a long time. At some point Malfoy had placed a hand on Harry’s knee, and sometime after that, Harry started to gently trace along the back of his hand with his fingers. It was quiet, and peaceful, and tranquil, and not at all what Harry would ever expect from the Slytherin boy.   
“So…” Harry finally piped up, his voice slightly hoarse. Malfoy withdrew his hand and shuffled away from Harry so they were sitting across from each other. He felt oddly empty at the loss of contact, and had an urge to reach out and pull Malfoy back to him, but instead he simply sat and didn’t say anything.   
“Panic attack?” Malfoy asked. There was no venom in his question; in fact, there was a sort of understanding. Harry nodded. Normally, he wouldn’t admit that to anyone, much less Malfoy, but given that the blonde boy had witnessed him firsthand, he didn’t think there was much point in lying.   
“I got them when I was younger. They stopped once I came to Hogwarts. But I guess after everything…” Harry trailed off. It only made sense. When his panic attacks first started up when he was eight, they only started happening after the nightmares. Ever since the war, he’d been having bad dreams. It only made sense. “Thank you for… you know,” Harry added absentmindedly. “How did you know what to do?”  
Malfoy curled in on himself, pulling his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them. As he leaned forwards to set his chin on his knees, Harry was reminded of a young Malfoy, still poised and graceful, but less hard, less stiff, less dark.   
“I get them too,” his voice was barely above a whisper. “Ever since…” He looked up at Harry. “Well, you know. My mother taught me how to cope with them. Apparently she got them too, during the First War.” He paused. “What’s ‘the closet?’” he asked all of a sudden. “You kept on saying ‘not the closet.’”  
“Oh,” Harry glanced down at the ground, wishing that hadn’t slipped out. “It was my old room. When I was younger and living with the Dursleys, I slept in a closet under the stairs.”  
“A closet?” Malfoy asked incredulously. Harry nodded.   
“The place you were describing,” Harry started saying, trying to distract Malfoy. Talking about his former life with the Dursleys in a Potions cupboard wasn’t exactly Harry’s idea of an ideal conversation. “Where was it?”  
“France. I don’t remember where exactly, but we stayed there the summer between my fourth and fifth year.”  
“So what’s so happy about it?” Harry questioned, leaning forward. “What makes that specifically your happy place?”  
Malfoy’s ears started to go pink and Harry cocked his head. He hadn’t been trying to mess with Malfoy, but nonetheless he recalled his question and tried to figure out if there was some sort of hidden innuendo in it. As far as he could tell, there wasn’t one. Yet, there was Malfoy, slowly turning red.   
“No particular reason,” he stuttered, looking at the floor. He paused and glanced back up. “And… well, I suppose it was the last normal summer I had. And father was off serving You-Know-Who; his absence is always a plus.” From the way he said it, Harry could tell Malfoy was not about to elaborate on his complicated relationship with his father, so instead, he decided to ask the blonde boy the question that had been bothering him all evening.   
“So, are you friends with Luna?” Malfoy stared at him for a few seconds, unblinking, before he responded.   
“No.”  
“She seems to believe you are,” Harry said. Malfoy stood up, brushed off his clothes, and offered a hand to Harry. He took it and was heaved to his feet.   
“Yes, but she also believes Nargles and Crumple Horned Snorkacks exist,” Malfoy commented, moving back to the shelves.   
“You call her by her first name.” Harry followed him.   
“So?”  
“You hardly call anyone by their first name.” Harry watched Malfoy start to reorganize the ingredients. “Only her and Parkinson and Zabini as far as I know.”  
“You don’t know anything about me, Potter,” Malfoy sneered, but there was a hint of playfulness to his voice.   
“Not entirely true. I know that you used to be a Death Eater-”  
“Common knowledge,” Malfoy cut him off. He turned and glared at Harry. “And thanks for bringing that up.” Harry didn’t apologise, but he had the decency to lower his head slightly and look apologetic.   
“You wear too much black-”  
“Matter of opinion; I look good in black,” Malfoy stated haughtily. Harry smirked, seeing a clear chance to use his new flirting strategy.   
“That you do.” He shot a wink at Malfoy, and was rewarded with the sight of his pale skin turning red. “You’re a great bloody git, but you’re not half-bad at Potions,” Harry added reluctantly. You brag too much, but you certainly know how to fly, your favorite color is red, you like the names Aquila and Scorpius, and you’re scared that you’ll grow up to be like your father.” Once Harry was finished, he watched Malfoy. The Slytherin’s face was now only slightly flushed as he stared at Harry. “Am I wrong?” There was silence for a few seconds before Malfoy started yelling.   
“You deceitful little prick, you spied on me!” Harry flinched backwards, remembering Malfoy’s reaction the last time he was caught spying. Malfoy stayed where he was, and didn’t look as if he wanted to actually attack Harry, but he put his hands in front of his face in defense just in case.   
“Don’t go breaking my nose again, I didn’t do it intentionally.” Malfoy sobered at that mention and traded his face of rage for a glower. “I was looking for Luna and overheard some of your conversation.”  
“I suppose you want me to apologize for the train incident in sixth year?” Malfoy grumbled.   
“Yeah actually,” Harry smiled. It seemed as if Malfoy had realized that an apology was long overdue. “I’d quite like that.”  
“Too bad, Potter.” Malfoy smirked. Harry rolled his eyes. Of course the Slytherin boy hadn’t actually wanted to apologise.   
Suddenly, a thought occurred to Harry. When he came across them in the forest, he didn’t think their conversation was anything but platonic, but he supposed he could be mistaken. According to his friends, he wasn’t all that good at recognizing romance when he saw it.   
“Wait… are you and Luna…” Harry trailed off, unable to finish his sentence. The mere thought of Malfoy and Luna together made his stomach churn.  
“What?” Malfoy exclaimed, almost knocking over a jar of toad’s eyes. “Merlin, no!” He spent a few seconds staring at Harry like he was insane for even suggesting such a thing before returning to his organizing.   
“Thank goodness.” Harry picked up a glass off of the floor where he had been sorting and passed it to the blonde.   
“She’s not my type,” Malfoy said, taking the glass and shrugging.   
“That’s what you said about Pansy,” Harry mused, letting his fingers brush against Malfoy’s.   
“And?”  
“If neither of them are up to your standards,” Harry wondered. “Then who is?” Malfoy sighed and rolled his eyes. He carefully pushed the glass to the back of the shelf while he spoke.   
“It’s not about standards, it’s about-” He stopped suddenly, his eyes flitting over to Harry.   
“About?” Harry prompted him, urging him to continue speaking. His curiosity was peaked and he was itching to know who exactly was Malfoy’s type.   
“Nothing,” he said curtly. “None of your business.”  
“Come on, Malfoy,” Harry sighed and leaned against the shelf, his arms crossed over his chest. “You’re stuck with me for a whole two more hours. It wouldn’t kill you to have one non-hostile conversation with me.”  
“You already know far too much about me,” Malfoy muttered under his breath.   
“I thought you said I knew nothing about you.” Harry smirked and the blonde looked up in alarm. He gathered himself after a moment.   
“And I’d rather it stayed that way,” he said coolly.   
“What if I told you about me?” Harry offered. The Slytherin raised an eyebrow. “Would that make you feel better?” When he didn’t receive a response, Harry assumed the answer was yes. “Let’s see, you already know I’m bollocks at Potions-”  
“True.” Malfoy snorted and shelved a small vial of gold dust.   
“You already know I’m brilliant at Quidditch-”  
“Debatable,” he interrupted Harry, shooting him a disapproving glance.   
“What don’t you know about me?” Harry asked, taking a step towards Malfoy and relaxing against the shelf. The Slytherin boy eyed him warily before answering.   
“Your favorite color.”  
“Green,” Harry answered immediately.   
“Really?” A coy smile played at Malfoy’s lips. Why Harry had started looking at Malfoy’s mouth, he wasn’t quite sure. But for some reason, he was now finding it hard to look away.   
“Oi, if you can like red, I can like green.” Harry made himself look up into Malfoy’s eyes, which crinkled around the edges as he smiled.   
“Touche,” he conceded. “Children?”  
“What about them?” Harry asked, returning Malfoy’s smile.   
“First off, do you want them?”  
“Yeah.” He nodded.   
“How many?” Malfoy questioned, turning his attention back to the shelves. Harry wasn’t helping at all, and he wasn’t about to start, but either Malfoy hadn’t noticed or he didn’t care.   
“Why should I tell you that? I don’t know how many you want,” Harry said, giving Malfoy a hard time.   
“Well obviously you overheard me saying that I don’t want any,” Malfoy spared a glance at Harry as he rolled his eyes.   
“No, I overheard you say that you didn’t think you’d be a good father, not that you didn’t want kids,” Harry clarified. Malfoy sighed, giving in.   
“Fine.” He considered the question for a moment. “One or two. You?”  
“Three or four.”  
“Ugh. Large families,” Malfoy groaned, but there was no malice to his statement. “You want to be like the Weasels, do you?” Harry frowned at the mention of his friend’s family and gave the blonde a warning look.   
“Watch it, Malfoy.” The Slytherin boy brushed off Harry’s warning, but didn’t say anything further about the Weasleys.  
“Names?” Malfoy asked.   
“I haven’t really thought about it.” Harry gave himself a moment to think. “Maybe after my parents, Lily and James?” Malfoy scoffed.   
“You didn’t even know them,” he remarked, looking at Harry inquisitively.   
“No, I didn’t,” Harry admitted. “But they were still better parents to me than the Dursleys ever were.” Malfoy seemed to accept this answer and he worked in silence for a few minutes while Harry watched him.   
It was odd: for so many years, Harry had grown so used to being at odds with Malfoy. Now that there was nothing to fight over, he was finding that the blonde boy wasn’t all that bad. He cringed internally even admitting it to himself, but if things had been different, maybe they would have even been friends.   
“You’re staring,” Malfoy pointed out, eyeing Harry suspiciously. Harry quickly averted his gaze to the floor as Malfoy cleared his throat. “I’m not using her, if that’s what you’re wondering,” Malfoy clarified. It took Harry a second to figure out what Malfoy was talking about, since he hadn’t been thinking about Luna when he was looking at Malfoy: he wasn’t entirely sure what he was thinking.   
“She’s… she’s been kind to me,” he uttered softly towards the ground. “I’m not about to admit to being her friend or anything, but I like spending time with her. True, she’s a bit loony, but she doesn’t pretend to be someone she isn’t.” He looked up at Harry. “I’m not going to hurt her, not on purpose anyways, so you can stop worrying about it.”  
“Alright,” Harry said warily.   
“And don’t go stalking me again because we both know how well that turned out the first time,” Malfoy said. Harry was about to give a bitter retort when he noticed Malfoy was smiling at him. Was he… joking with Harry?  
All too soon, his smile was gone and he was back to ignoring Harry in favor of the potions supplies. Harry finally gave in and began to help, and they completed the rest of their detention in comfortable silence. At ten o’clock sharp, Slughorn strolled into the classroom, examined their work, and dismissed them for the evening.   
Just as he was about to leave, Harry caught Malfoy by the elbow.   
“I may be pushing my luck here,” he began, desperately hoping that he was right in thinking Malfoy might behave like a decent human being for once. “But could you… could you not tell anyone about tonight? In the cupboard?” It took a second before realization dawned on Malfoy. Once it hit him, he looked mildly offended.   
“Of course not,” he whispered sharply before pulling his arm out of Harry’s grasp and escaping the classroom.   
Harry watched him leave and yawned. It had been a long, and interesting, day.


	19. "Dear God Potter, what?"

Chapter Nineteen

Two days had passed since Harry's panic attack, and still Malfoy hadn't said anything. He was true to his word, which set Harry on edge. Harry honestly thought he might have preferred if the Slytherin boy used the information to blackmail or embarrass him rather than behave like a decent human being.   
It was during Defense Against the Dark Arts that his suspicions got the better of him and he ended up asking Zabini about it. Once again Professor Noble had the students dueling, and Zabini seemed to be putting up much more of a fight than the last time. Harry managed to dodge a particularly nasty hex as Professor Noble called for a break.   
“I've been meaning to ask you,” Harry said, slightly out of breath. Zabini gave him a nod glance but nodded for him to continue as he sat on the edge of one of the desks. “Has Malfoy… said anything about me?”  
“By which you mean… ?” He shifted his gaze upwards towards Harry. There was a hint of interest behind his bored expression.   
“Just… has he been talking about me?”  
“You mean any more than usual?” Zabini lifted a carefully plucked eyebrow. “No.”  
“What do you mean ‘any more than usual?’” Harry questioned, pulling his water bottle out of his bag. It turned out that when he actually tried, Zabini was a force to be reckoned with, and after such an intense fight, Harry was parched.   
“He spends quite a bit of his time talking about you.” Harry shifted uncomfortably as Zabini watched him, awaiting a further explanation. After a few uncomfortable moments of staring, the Slytherin boy continued. “He does love to complain about you. After all, you do hate each other, don’t you?” Although it was phrased like a rhetorical question, something about Zabini’s tone made Harry believe the boy was actually asking for an answer. He was about to nod in agreement when something stopped him.   
“Well,” he started, not entirely sure what he was going to say. Did he hate Malfoy? He thought he did, at one point, but looking back, Harry realized he never truly hated the sneering blonde; he only held an occasional severe dislike. “I wouldn’t say we… hate each other. At least, I don’t hate him.”  
“Really?” Zabini said, seemingly unsurprised. Harry felt the need to explain anyways.   
“It’s not like I want to be mates with him or anything, he’s still a git,” Harry glanced up, remembering that he was talking to one of Malfoy’s friends. “No offense,” he quickly added.   
“None taken.”   
“But I don’t hate him.” Harry shrugged and took a long sip from his water bottle. “Ready to go again?” he asked, sealing the lid and placing the bottle back in his bag.  
“Whenever you are.” Zabini pushed himself onto his feet and the two boys returned to their fight.   
The rest of class passed rather uneventfully. Harry bested Zabini in most of their matches, but all of them were a close call; clearly Zabini was good for more than just posing.   
Harry waltzed out of the classroom, Hermione and Ron by his side, and caught sight of Parkinson draped over Malfoy. She rested her chin on his shoulder with her arms wrapped around his waist. Something about it made Harry’s blood boil.   
Malfoy didn’t respond to the contact; he barely even seemed to notice as he was busy talking to Zabini, but he made no effort to push her away either.   
“Harry?” Ron nudged him in the side. Harry pulled his gaze away from the Slytherins and ignored the fire blazing in his stomach. “You with us?”  
“Yeah, sorry,” Harry said, shooting his friends a smile. “Just zoned out for a bit. What were you saying?”  
“I was asking if you have detention tonight,” Hermione answered. “Do you?”  
“Yes, every night til the end of term,” Harry clarified.   
“And with Malfoy too,” Ron said, frowning. “It’s got to be bloody awful. How do you manage? I think I’d bash his face in if I had to spend any more time with him than necessary.”  
“Ronald!” Hermione scolded, looking at Ron affrontedly.   
“Come on Ron,” Harry butted in before Hermione could give a full blown lecture. “Even you have to admit he’s not that bad.”  
“Not that bad?” Ron said incredulously. “Harry, are you hearing yourself?”  
Harry felt a wave of deja vu, remembering his conversation with Luna the other day. He had gone from attacking Malfoy to defending him in a matter of days.   
“We’re not twelve anymore. He’s grown up.” When Ron kept staring at Harry like he was going out of his mind, Harry continued. “I’m not saying he’s not a git, I’m just saying he’s not the same person he used to be, alright?”  
“I think you’re losing it,” Ron joked, though there was a hint of concern to his words.   
“Or maybe you just like to hold a grudge,” Hermione suggested, shooting Ron a reprimanding look.   
“I don’t see why you’re defending him!” Ron whispered as Malfoy and his friends passed by. Parkinson was no longer clinging to Malfoy like a desperate monkey climbing a tree, and Harry felt himself relax at this knowledge. “Especially when he called you a… you know.”  
“That was years ago,” Hermione brushed him off. “I haven’t heard him use that word since the start of term and besides…” she trailed off, as if she was debating whether she should speak or not. “He apologized to me.”  
“What?” Harry and Ron exclaimed in unison.   
“When?” Harry pried, not completely believing her.   
“When I confronted him about Joplin.” She shrugged as if it wasn’t a big deal, which Harry disagreed with immensely: Draco Malfoy apologizing for anything was, in fact, a big deal.   
“Hermione! That was weeks ago!” Ron’s eyes looked like they might pop out of his head.   
“First Luna, now you…” Harry grumbled. Hermione whirled around and stared at him.   
“What do you mean, ‘first Luna?’” She cocked her head to the side. Harry shifted uncomfortably. He hadn’t meant for her to hear that. He considered for a moment: he wasn’t sure whether it was his place to inform his friends of the friendship between Malfoy and Luna. Luna didn’t seem to mind sharing, but Malfoy was still apprehensive. Harry quickly shoved away his concern over the blonde boy’s reaction and resolved to tell his friends. Since when did he care what Malfoy thought?  
“Luna and Malfoy are…” Harry paused, trying to find the right words.   
“Bloody hell! They’re together?” Ron nearly shouted, throwing his arms up into the air. “I’ll hex him into oblivion! I’ll-”   
“What? No!” Harry interrupted. “They’re friends, that’s all.”  
“Friends?” Hermione questioned, raising her eyebrows.   
“According to her, yeah.”   
“And according to him?” she pried even further. Harry didn’t answer. “Do you think there’s a chance he’s… trying to manipulate Luna?” Surprisingly, Harry found himself shaking his head. Despite his initial suspicions, he now doubted there was any malicious intent behind the two blondes’ friendship.   
“I don’t think so. Oddly enough, I think he… I think he genuinely likes her.” Ron stared. “In a friend sort of way,” Harry quickly added.   
“I suppose stranger things have happened,” Hermione considered. “But Luna and Malfoy? That’s a friendship I never saw coming.”   
They walked in silence to Transfiguration, where they worked on transforming turtles into teapots while Lavender and Pavarti swooned over Professor Lark. Near the end of class, they had finished their practicing and the Professor began to collect their Animagi Diaries.   
“I am looking forward to reading all of these,” he commented as the students passed their books forward. Over the past few weeks, Professor Lark had come out of his shell quite a bit. While he still occasionally stumbled over his words or fumbled with his papers, his confidence had grown. “Once I read them over, I will return them to you with notes on how to proceed with your ‘transformation.’”  
“Professor?” Lavender piped up from the front table. “How is it you know so much about Animagi?”   
“Well,” he began, smiling to himself. Professor Lark rarely talked about himself, so even Harry found himself leaning forward in his seat to listen. “I am, like your previous professor, an Amimagus myself.”   
There were excited gasps and whispers around the classroom, and Professor Lark stood awkwardly while he waited for the chatter to die down.   
“Could you show us?” Hermione raised her hand and asked.   
“Certainly.” He nodded and with a flourish, he transformed before the class’ eyes. Now there was a medium-sized white wolf with golden eyes. Harry couldn’t help but react: out of all the creatures he could’ve imagined the young, awkward professor to take the form of, a wolf would be the last he’d expect.   
Suddenly, Professor Lark was once again standing at the front of the room. He smiled slightly.   
“I completed the Transformation right after my seventh year,” he explained.  
“That’s awfully young,” Parvati commented.   
“Correct Miss Patil,” he nodded at her. “I’m actually the youngest Animagus ever known.”  
“Youngest registered Animagus,” Harry corrected under his breath. He supposed it would probably be a bad idea to blurt out his father and godfather’s illegal Animagus status to the entire class.   
The rest of the day passed by painfully slowly. Charms with Flitwick was usually an at least borderline interesting class, but today, it had been dreadfully boring. They were practicing Levitation charms on heavy objects, which wasn’t complicated, but it was awfully tedious. Quidditch practice was painfully dull: Ginny was mostly focusing on training the Chasers, which meant the rest of the team got a lot of practice in while Harry was left to search for the Snitch at the other end of the field. Even dinner was unusually bland, both the food and the conversation. By the time seven o’clock rolled around and Harry had to rush off to detention, he actually found himself oddly excited to spend three hours locked in a room with Malfoy. At least the Slytherin was always interesting.   
He was disappointed to find that Malfoy didn’t seem all that eager to chat. The blonde had remained silent for the past twenty minutes, and Harry was growing sick of it.   
“So have you changed your mind about Parkinson, then?” Harry blurted out when the silence came to be too much.   
“Excuse me?” Malfoy lifted a perfectly arched brow at Harry, barely looking up from his work. They were grading papers once again, much to Harry’s relief; he was not looking forward to going into that Potions cupboard ever again.   
“Pansy Parkinson,” Harry said. “You said she wasn’t your type, but she was all over you this morning.”  
“That’s just Pansy.” Malfoy waved him off and turned his gaze back to the papers on his desk.   
“So you aren’t dating her?”   
“Like I’ve said before, Potter, no, I’m not.” Malfoy glared at him. Then, his stare softened and he smirked. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were interested in me.”  
All too late, Malfoy realized his mistake.  
“Who says I’m not interested?” Harry winked, driving his point home. Malfoy’s face burned and he averted Harry’s eyes.   
“Bloody hell,” he muttered under his breath.   
“You don’t really swear that much, did you know that?” Harry said suddenly, voicing his thoughts aloud.   
“Don’t I?” Malfoy mused, his face still pink.   
“No, you don’t. I should know, Ron swears like he’s a sailor. But you rarely do.”   
“Thank you for noticing, oh Great Chosen One,” Malfoy drawled sarcastically. “How could I ever live without your brilliant observations?”  
“I don’t think you could,” Harry joked. “I think you’d just shrivel up and die without my attention.” This made Malfoy snort. Harry caught sight of a small smile playing at the other boy’s lips.   
“Rest assured Potter,” Malfoy began, his tone teasing. “I have much more important things to focus on than you.”  
“Like what?” The blonde boy gave Harry a funny look, so he explained. “What other things do you have to focus on?”  
“Why do you care?” Malfoy asked, torn between annoyance and genuine curiosity.   
“Why not?” Harry shot back, enjoying their repartee more than he thought he should. Malfoy sighed.   
“Quidditch. N.E.W.Ts. Job applications. Interviews. Finding good Christmas presents.” The blonde shrugged.   
“Half of those things you shouldn’t even be worried about,” Harry smiled. “Job applications? You don’t need to worry about those yet.” Harry almost started to laugh before he saw the icy look that Malfoy was giving him.   
“You do when you’re a former Death Eater.”  
“Right,” Harry cleared his throat, embarrassed. “So, what do you want to do? You know, for your career?” he asked, trying to change the subject.   
“Why are you so intent on bothering me?” Malfoy regarded Harry with an expression of boredom.   
“Why are you so intent on deflecting?” Harry retorted. “Besides, it’s not like I have anything better to do. These first years’ handwriting is so bad it’s making my eyes hurt.” Malfoy rolled his eyes, but did in fact start to answer Harry’s earlier question.   
“Either a professional Quidditch player,” Harry nodded, imagining it. He’d admitted it himself, Malfoy wasn’t a half-bad Seeker; if he put the work in, he could easily go professional. “Or something in Potions.”  
“A Professor?” Harry suggested. Malfoy shook his head.  
“No, I don’t think I could handle dealing with eleven year olds everyday.” He paused, thinking. “Maybe a Healer.”  
“A Healer?” Harry said, baffled. Envisioning Malfoy as a Quidditch player was one thing, but a Healer? That was difficult to picture.  
“Don’t sound so surprised,” he sneered. “Healing is based in Potions, after all.” Harry shrugged in agreement. He really didn’t know all that much about Healing or Potions if he was perfectly honest.   
“I’d like to be an Auror,” Harry said, even though Malfoy hadn’t asked. The blonde cocked his head and narrowed his eyes.   
“Really?”  
“Yes, really.” Harry nodded affirmatively.   
“That’s not what I expected.” Malfoy shrugged and looked down at his papers, making a mark on one of them. “I would’ve thought you’d have dealt with enough Dark Wizards for a lifetime.”   
“That’s what Ron said,” Harry mumbled.   
“I hate to agree with the Weasel,” Harry glowered at the use of the nickname; Malfoy rolled his eyes. “But he has a point.”   
They fell into silence again, the only sound the occasional scratching of quill against parchment. Harry tried to focus on his correcting, but he kept finding himself distractedly staring at Malfoy.   
“Malfoy?”  
“Dear god Potter, what?” Malfoy placed his quill down on the table and looked at Harry, exasperated.   
“Why did you let me win?” Harry asked.  
“What on Earth are you referring to?”  
“In Professor Noble’s class,” he explained. “When we were dueling partners. Why did you let me win?” A brief spark of recollection flashed across Malfoy’s face.  
“I did no such thing.” His expression had returned to neutrality, and he picked up his quill. “Let me work in peace, why don’t you.”  
“But you did!” Harry protested, snatching the quill out of the Slytherin’s hand. Instead of reaching out for the writing utensil, Malfoy simply sat resignedly in his seat. “You threw that fight!”  
“I didn’t,” he shook his head.   
“Did,” Harry chided.   
“Didn’t,” Malfoy spat, angrier now.   
“Did.”  
“Are you a five year old?!” He finally exclaimed, yelling at Harry.   
“If that means you’ll spank me,” Harry said suggestively, wiggling his eyebrows. Even if it was just to mess with the blonde boy, he was getting good at this.   
“I… Why- er- you….” Once again, Malfoy’s entire face became flushed as he sputtered awkwardly. “Argh!”   
“Why’d you let me win?” Harry tried asking again, hoping that after some humiliation, the Slytherin boy would be more willing to answer.  
“I-” He looked as if he was about to protest before his face fell and he sighed. “I would’ve got in trouble.”  
“What? But you were winning fair and square,” Harry pointed out. Malfoy smiled sadly.   
“Doesn’t matter.” He shrugged. “You’re the Chosen One.” Malfoy said it without any anger, without any spite: he was just stating facts. “No one would believe I beat you without cheating somehow.” Harry swallowed and felt a tightness in his chest. He’d never considered what his status meant for those around him. Malfoy cleared his throat, pulling Harry out of his thoughts. “Also, I’m fairly certain I would be attacked by all the girls in your little fan club if I won,” he added.   
“I don’t have a fan club,” Harry protested, although he felt his chest relaxing.   
“You do actually,” Malfoy mused, smiling. “Pansy calls them the Potterettes. I call them idiots.” Harry bit back a laugh. “Besides, you should be thanking me, you do have a reputation to uphold.”  
“I don’t give a damn about my reputation,” Harry said, smirking.  
“You should.” Malfoy said, his face unreadable. “At least you have a good one.”


	20. Metal, the Potions Cupboard, and Something Else

Chapter Twenty

After a grueling Quidditch practice on Wednesday afternoon, Harry made his way down to the Potions classroom for detention. The door was locked once he got there, as he expected, so he sat on the floor, leaning against the wall. He knew his detention didn’t start for another hour, but after the day he’d had, he needed some time to himself.   
The day started off just fine: he was a tad rushed in getting ready for breakfast since he woke up slightly late, but other than that, his morning was entirely normal. The trouble started when he found himself cornered by two sixth year Hufflepuffs after breakfast. Despite the number of times it had already happened that term, Harry still couldn’t get used to the constant berating of smitten girls asking him out. These particular girls, one blonde and one brunette, had been especially persistent, until Ron actually had to rescue Harry from their advances. From there, his day only got worse.   
In Potions, he was greeted by a very grumpy Ernie.   
“Morning,” he said, waving at the blonde Hufflepuff. Ernie merely grunted in response, barely sparing Harry a glance. “You alright?”  
“Perfectly alright,” he responded harshly. Clearly, he was not alright. “Why wouldn’t I be? Everything’s just perfect.”  
“Er… okay?” Harry sat down, eyeing Ernie cautiously.   
“After all,” he spoke again, plastering a smile on his face. “I have the honor to speak with the great Harry Potter. Who could possibly resist you?”  
“What?” Now Harry was completely lost. The last time he checked, him and Ernie were friends. “Have I done something?”  
“No, nothing at all.” Ernie huffed and crossed his arms over his chest.   
“Ernie?” Harry pressed, leaning across the table.   
“It’s just…” he squeezed his eyes shut, sighing. “Do you have to have all the girls? I mean, can’t you just leave some for the rest of us?”  
“I’m sorry?” Harry furrowed his brows.   
“Briana Fernsby, for instance?” Ernie mumbled towards the table.   
“Who?”   
“Briana Fernsby. Curly brown hair. Hufflepuff. Sixth year. Eyes like the night sky, all dark and sparkly…” he trailed off, clearly getting lost in his thoughts. Harry thought for a moment and recalled the two girls from that morning; one of them matched Ernie’s description. He cleared his throat to capture Ernie’s attention.   
“I think I know who you’re talking about. What about her?” Harry asked, still unclear as to why Ernie was so upset.   
“You think you know her? Merlin Harry, how could you… why are you… why would you date her if you barely know who she is?” Ernie said incredulously. Harry stared, blinking rapidly.   
“Ernie, what on Earth are you talking about?”   
“I asked her out yesterday, alright?” Ernie whispered fiercely. “And you know what she said?” He paused briefly and Harry wondered whether it was an actual question. Luckily, it seemed to be rhetorical as Ernie continued on a moment later. “She said she would go out with me, if it weren’t for the fact that she fancied you.”  
“And that’s my fault, how exactly?” Harry asked, becoming more puzzled by the minute.   
“I saw you with her this morning!” Ernie exclaimed, earning the attention of Terry Boot from the table next to them. Ernie lowered his voice and Boot went back to ignoring them. “And it’s not your fault, really, it’s just… frustrating is all.”  
“Ernie,” Harry started carefully, not wanting to set the Hufflepuff off. “Look I’m sure Brinana is lovely, but I’m not dating her and I don’t fancy her.”  
“Then what were you doing with her in the hallway?”   
“She sort of… asked me out. Her and her friend.” Ernie’s face fell. “But I said no!” Harry reassured him. “Look Ernie, I’m really not interested in any of those girls.”  
“Any of them?” Ernie lifted his eyebrows. Harry shook his head.  
“And if I’m being perfectly honest, I don’t think they’re really interested in me either. I think they only like me because they think I’m some hero or something.” Harry shrugged and Ernie scoffed.   
“But you are a hero,” he insisted. Harry smiled.   
“Maybe,” Harry had learned it was pointless to argue over his heroism; no matter how many times he insisted, people simply refused to accept that his actions weren’t done out of bravery or courage, they were done out of desperation. “But if that’s the only reason they like me, then they don’t fancy the real me, do they? They fancy the idea of me.” Ernie considered this for a moment and then shrugged.   
“I suppose that makes sense.” Ernie seemed to have calmed down and was no longer regarding Harry with a resentful expression. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have been so mad at you. I just…” Harry watched as a sad smile grew on Ernie’s face. “I just really like her. And, I mean, if you and her liked each other, that would be fine. I know I don’t have any say in who she fancies, or who you fancy, but it still hurts.”  
“Well, luckily for you, I don’t fancy her.” Harry nudged Ernie with his elbow, which made the sadness fade out of his smile.   
“We’ll be starting in just a few minutes students! I just need a few volunteers to help bring out the samples of Amortentia,” Slughorn greeted the class, and immediately Padma’s hand shot up in the air, along with the other Ravenclaws. He glanced over at Harry’s table, and then over to the table in the back, where Zabini and Malfoy were chatting quietly. “You boys,” he called to the Slytherins. “Come up and sit with Mr. Potter and Mr… er-”  
“Macmillan. Ernie Macmillan,” Ernie said, clearly resisting the urge to roll his eyes. Over two years of knowing the Hufflepuff and Slughorn still couldn’t be bothered to remember his name.   
“Right. Mr. Macallen.” Here, Ernie did actually roll his eyes. “Come on, you two,” Slughorn continued when the Slytherins stayed put. “No point in splitting into two tables when there’s more than enough room for you here.” He beckoned them towards the front of the room and they reluctantly dragged themselves and their belongings over to Harry and Ernie.   
Once again, Zabini claimed the seat beside Ernie before Malfoy had a chance, but unlike last time, the blonde Slytherin didn’t seem all that disgruntled at the prospect of sitting next to Harry. Granted, he still mumbled something incoherent and likely insulting under his breath while he sat down, but he seemed more mildly irritated rather than enraged.   
A cauldron filled with a steaming, pearly liquid was placed at their table that Harry immediately recognized as Amortentia. Harry leaned over the cauldron, remembering the last time he caught a whiff of the love potion. Unfortunately, now, all Harry could pick out over the scent of Malfoy’s cologne was the same familiar smell of treacle tart and his broomstick.   
After Slughorn briefly explained that they were to mark their observations about the Amortentia in front of them, Harry’s table worked in relative quiet. Harry and Ernie shared the occasional remark, and Zabini would often let his eyes wander suspiciously between Harry and Malfoy.   
Eventually, to Harry’s surprise, Ernie and Zabini struck up a conversation, sharing their thoughts about some wizarding band that Harry had never heard of. Malfoy’s ears perked up at the mention of the band name, the Jinxing Jigs, but he remained silent.   
“So…” Harry whispered awkwardly, leaning in towards Malfoy. “What do you smell?” Malfoy shot him an incredulous look. Neither Ernie nor Zabini seemed to have noticed Harry attempting to talk to Malfoy, so he pressed further. “In the Amortentia,” he clarified. “What do you smell?”  
“I hardly think that’s any of your concern, Potter,” Malfoy responded, his voice bordering between dangerous and amused.  
“It could be,” Harry said suggestively, and bit back a smile at the blush spreading over Malfoy’s face. “Seriously, though, I’m curious.”  
“Why?” The blonde regained some of his composure as he questioned Harry.   
“Does one need a reason to be curious?” Harry mused, smirking playfully. “I am, after all, a student. Isn’t it a student’s responsibility to want to learn? To question everything? To feed their inner curiosity?”  
“You just love the sound of your own voice, don’t you?” Malfoy retorted with a smile on his face. However, the smile quickly fell as Malfoy realized he had actually been friendly towards Harry.   
“Come on, tell me.” Harry nudged Malfoy’s elbow, and the Slytherin recoiled at the touch. Harry leaned back, afraid that the blonde boy might attack in retaliation, but instead he just stared at Harry affrontedly.   
“Fine,” Malfoy conceded, rolling his eyes. “It smells like…” Malfoy stopped speaking for a moment while he leaned over the cauldron and took a whiff. “Like metal, but not just any metal, it’s very specific…”  
“What is it?” Harry asked when the blonde fell silent.   
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out, give me just a moment will you?” Hary bit back a reply and waited for Malfoy to speak. His face flashed with recognition. “It’s the smell of the Snitch, that’s what it is. And there’s something else, something dusty and old and… I think it’s the Potions cupboard.”  
“The potions cupboard?” Harry laughed. Of all the scents in the world, he would not call the smell of an old potions cupboard at all appealing.   
“Some of us actually enjoy potions,” Malfoy said defensively. “And, there’s something-” Malfoy cut himself off very abruptly and every muscle in his body seemed to tighten.  
“Malfoy?” Harry asked, moving to lean in, but pulling back at Malfoy’s sharp intake of breath.   
“Nothing. Nothing else. That’s it.” The Slytherin averted Harry’s eyes and bent over his notebook, hastily scribbling something down. Clearly, Malfoy was lying, but Harry was scared to push him any further; so for the time being, Harry let it be.   
After Potions, Harry went to Herbology, which was as uninteresting as usual. The day passed in a blur of boredom until Quidditch practice that afternoon, when Ginny pushed the team nearly to their limit.   
Their first game was that Saturday, against Slytherin, and clearly, Ginny was anxious to win. She kept them working an hour past when practice was supposed to end, to the chagrin of the team members. By the time practice ended and they headed to the locker rooms to change, Harry was exhausted and his fingers felt numb from gripping his broom for so long.   
Now, he sat on the floor by the Potions classroom, and found himself reaching into his bag to pull out Sirius’ diary. He hadn’t read an entry in a while, and he had some time to kill, so he thumbed through the book until he landed where he last left off.   
November 6th, 1976  
Dear someone,   
This month’s moon was rough. Remus was in the infirmary all of yesterday. Prongs, Wormtail, and me all took turns skipping classes so we could stay with him (much to Minnie’s disappointment). He seemed fairly cheery despite all his injuries, but I caught him staring off into space a few times.   
See, the problem isn’t really how hurt he is, from what I’ve seen, he’s been through much worse; the problem is the giant gash on his face. He’s always had scars, he tries his best to hide them, but I know they’re there, but this is different. He can’t really hide this one.   
We tried to keep him away from mirrors, but I can imagine they’d be hard not to notice, even if he hadn’t exactly seen them.  
He was allowed to come back to the dormitories this evening, and I found him in the bathroom staring at his reflection…   
Suddenly, Harry was standing in the Gryffindor boy’s lavatory, and there was Remus, peering into the mirror. Harry nearly gasped at the sight of the long, red line running from his left eyebrow to his upper lip. As an older man, this cut faded into a thin, silvery stripe that was barely noticeable until you got up close, but here, it was impossible to miss.   
“I get that you’re handsome and all, but is it really necessary to stare at yourself in the mirror?” Harry and Remus whipped around to see Sirius leaning up against the doorframe, regarding Remus with a smirk.   
“Sirius!” Remus exclaimed. “I didn’t see you there.” He pointedly did not look at his reflection, and silence passed between the boys as they both stared at each other awkwardly. Eventually, Sirius sighed and made his way to the sink next to Remus.   
“It’s not that bad, you know,” he commented while turning on the tap. He cupped his hands together under the spout and splashed water onto his face. A few droplets stuck to his hair, dripping down onto the floor.   
“Says the guy who doesn’t have a giant scar covering half of his face,” Remus muttered under his breath as he handed Sirius a towel. The black-haired boy wiped down his face and looked at his taller friend for a moment.   
“Alright, it’s just slightly noticeable,” he admitted, and Remus raised an eyebrow as if silently saying, Slightly? “But it’s still not bad.”  
“You’re right, it’s not bad.” Remus shrugged and turned back towards the mirror. “It’s actually worse than just bad,” he said, smiling.   
It was almost convincing, but the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes, which were swimming in unspoken misery. His smirk quickly fell as soon as he glanced at Sirius, whose expression was hard and demanding. Remus let his gaze fall away from his shorter friend and he looked back at the mirror, cataloging every inch of his face. As he reached his hand up to run his fingers along the gash, Sirius grabbed his wrist, stopping him.  
“Stop it.” Remus blinked fast a few times and swallowed. “Moony, stop.” Sirius released his hand and leaned forward. “Remus, look at me.”  
“It’s just… ” he began, talking down towards the sink.   
“Look at me.” Sirius tentatively rested his hand on Remus’ shoulder and peered down so he was looking Remus directly in the eyes. “Talk to me.”  
“I know that there are so many worse things I should be worried about.” Remus sighed, finally looking up and running a hand through his tawny hair. “I mean, I’ll have to be officially registered as a Werewolf in a few months and we’ll be leaving Hogwarts soon and I have no clue how I’m supposed to find a job when all anyone will ever see is my lycanthropy,” Remus was speaking a million kilometers a minute, his hands frantically fidgeting with the edge of his sweater. “Not to mention the fact that a war is brewing and we’ll probably have to-” He stopped rambling as Sirius reached down and squeezed his hands.   
“Remus.”  
“And it’s so unimportant in the grand scheme of things but…” Remus took a deep breath, finally slowing down. “It’s just…” he stammered, seemingly at a loss for words. His breath hitched as he locked eyes with Sirius and whispered: “It’s just so ugly.”  
“Remus-”  
“And it’s not just that.” Remus pulled his hands out of Sirius’ reach and tore his gaze away from him. He placed his hands on the counter and hunched over the sink. “I mean, it’s a constant reminder of who I really am, what I really am. That I’m just some dark, cruel monster who-”  
“Shut up.” A deep growl eminanted from Sirius’ throat.   
“What?” Remus glanced up, confused and slightly alarmed. “Sirius-”  
“Shut. Up.” Sirius’ voice was commanding and Remus begrudgingly obeyed, closing his mouth. “I don’t understand why you refuse to believe me,” Sirius sighed and leaned against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest. “But you aren’t a monster, and you never will be. You’re Remus John Lupin: my stupid, nerdy, mischevious, sarcastic, sweater-loving Moony. You have been, and you never will be a monster. And as for this,” Sirius hesitantly reached up and brushed his fingers gently against the edge of Remus’ scar. “You’re right in saying that it’s a reminder of who you really are, but it’s by no means ugly. Because this,” He pointed at the gash, nearly poking Remus in the eye, earning a small chuckle. “Is proof that you would rather hurt yourself than anyone else. This is proof that you have survived despite everything the world has thrown at you. This is proof of your strength, and your selflessness, and your courage. That means that this scar? Could never be ugly. You could never be ugly.” The last part was added on in a hushed tone.  
Harry glanced away as he saw Remus’ eyes start to go shiny. Again, it felt like one of those moments that he shouldn’t bear witness to.   
“Besides, the scar only adds to your mysteriously handsome allure,” Sirius said matter-of-factly, smirking as he broke their eye contact to run a hand through his hair.   
“Mysteriously handsome?” Remus’ face broke into an amused grin, the tears welling in his eyes fading away.   
“Yeah,” Sirius shrugged, glancing at his nails. “Don’t get me wrong, you were a looker before, but with this scar, you’re devilishly handsome. Besides, it makes you look dangerous, and I’ve already told you how the ladies love a dangerous man. Blokes probably like it too,” he added with a wink. Remus laughed.   
“I can’t believe I told you that.” He shook his head, chuckling to himself as Sirius watched him.   
“Do you regret telling me?” he asked after a moment, his expression guarded.   
“No, no nothing like that,” Remus reassured him. “It was just a secret for so long, it’s hard to get used to the idea that someone else knows. I suppose it was a bit like that when you found out about my furry little problem as well.” They shared a smile before Sirius’ grin became a smirk and he got a mischievous glint in his eye.  
“I do have a question,” he mused. Remus rolled his eyes.   
“Oh Merlin.”  
“I just have to ask,” Sirius held up his hands defensively. “Since you’re attracted to blokes,” He leaned in towards Remus and nudged him with his elbow. “Am I attractive?”  
“Are you serious?” Remus asked, holding back a laugh.   
“I am, in fact. Sirius Black, nice to meet you.” Sirius held out his hand as if reaching out for a handshake and Remus let out an exasperated breath, pinching his nose between his thumb and forefinger.   
“Mother of-” His eyes flitted up towards Sirius and he bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling. “Will that pun ever get old?”  
“Probably not,” Sirius said, shrugging. “Now, tell me, am I handsome? Or hot?   
“Pads-” Remus began, but Sirius quickly interrupted.   
“Or sexy or gorgeous or ravishing?   
“Sirius.”  
“Oh no, I’m not cute, am I?” Sirius’ eyes went wide. “Please don’t say I’m cute, Moony, or I will die of sheer embarrassment,” he pleaded jokingly, though Harry wondered how Sirius would actually react if someone referred to him as ‘cute.’  
“You’re…” Remus’ eyes wandered over Sirius’ face for a moment before his gaze settled on the floor. “You’re bloody beautiful, Sirius.” His voice came out barely above a whisper, as if he was making a confession.  
“That…” Sirius trailed off, unable to think of any sort of witty retort. “Wasn’t the answer I was expecting,” he decided, staring at Remus.  
“What were you expecting?” Remus looked up and smiled, raising an eyebrow.  
“‘Hideous’ or ‘Bugger off, Padfoot,’” Sirius suggested, laughing.   
“Well, it’s true. You’re beautiful.”  
At some point during their conversation, the two boys had inched so close to each other that they were practically sharing each others’ breaths.   
“So are you,” Sirius whispered back, nudging his face forward with his chin, causing the two boys’ noses to brush together. Harry swore he saw Remus’ eyes flicker down to Sirius’ lips, and Sirius start to lean in before-  
“James!” Remus and Sirius exclaimed, pulling away from each other so suddenly that Sirius stumbled backwards and nearly fell onto the floor, only barely catching himself on the edge of the counter. Sure enough, a groggy James stood in the doorway, eyes blinking in the bright light.  
“Did I interrupt your snogging session?” he joked, making his way over to the sinks. He pulled his glasses off his face and rubbed his eyes tiredly.   
“Er-” Remus began, eyes flitting between Sirius and James. Luckily, Sirius interjected, looping an arm around James’ shoulder, hanging off of him like an excited puppy.   
“Yup, most certainly did Prongs,” he said nonchalantly. Harry watched Remus swallow nervously and turn away as his face started to turn slightly pink. “We were actually about to launch into the throws of passion if you’d like to join us and turn this twosome into a threesome?” Sirius gestured between the three boys and raised his eyebrows suggestively. James glanced between them and made a gagging noise.  
“I think I’d rather do literally anything else, thanks.”  
“Suit yourself, mate.” Sirius clapped James on the back and briefly locked eyes with Remus. There were a few moments of tense silence before he cleared his throat and looked back at James. “Well, I’m off to bed. Night lads.” With one last look backwards, Sirius left the bathroom, leaving Remus staring after him.   
“No offense Moony,” James turned to Remus, smirking. “But if you’re making out with Sirius, I think you need to raise your standards. I’m very concerned about your taste in men,” he teased, playing along with Sirius’ joke. Remus looked panicked for a split second before he masked it with a playful smile.   
“As am I Prongs, as am I.”  
The memory faded out of focus, leaving Harry sitting on the cold, stone floor with the diay in hand. As he closed the book and stuffed it inside his bag, only one thought ran through his head.   
What the bloody hell was that?


	21. "What do you want from me?"

Chapter Twenty-One

“Slughorn not here yet?” A voice chimed from above Harry. When the raven-haired boy looked up and caught sight of who was talking to him, he quickly scrambled to his feet and brushed off his trousers.   
“No, not yet,” he said, glancing towards the door to the Potions classroom.   
“That’s odd, it’s nearly seven,” Malfoy commented before stepping towards the door. As he stepped in front of it, the door swung open to reveal Professor Slughorn. He glanced between the two boys and chuckled.   
“There you both are! I was beginning to get a bit worried.” He gestured for them to come into the room and the boys complied.   
“But your door was closed?” Harry said questioningly. Slughorn cocked his head and smiled.   
“There was a draft. It was unlocked, of course.”   
Malfoy rolled his eyes and leaned towards Harry.   
“You didn’t even bother to check the door?” he whispered tauntingly. When he pulled away, he was wearing a smug smirk that Harry wanted to wipe off his face.   
“More grading this evening,” Slughorn said before Harry could give his retort. He ambled over to his desk, retrieving a stack of papers that he split between Harry and Malfoy. “I’ll be back at ten to dismiss you.”  
With that, Slughorn exited the classroom, leaving the two boys alone to work. Malfoy sat down, spreading out his papers and his quill across the desk and Harry sat across from him. Despite the fact that Harry could’ve sat anywhere in the room, Malfoy didn’t comment on his choice to sit near him.   
They graded in silence for a few minutes before Harry’s itch to bother Malfoy couldn’t be stifled anymore. Just as he was about to open his mouth however, the blonde across from him spoke first.   
“So why were you sitting outside alone in the hallway?” he asked softly, not looking up from the desk.   
“Huh?” Harry replied dumbly. He wasn’t used to Malfoy initiating their conversations unless they began with some sort of insult. Malfoy rolled his eyes and glanced up at Harry.   
“Why were you sitting out in the hallway all by yourself?” he asked again, this time his voice less gentle. “You always show up to detention just barely on time, it’s not like you to be early. I find it hard to believe that you’d choose to spend time sitting in the dark in an empty hallway without some sort of reason.”  
“Long day. Needed a break,” Hary explained himself in as little words as possible.   
“Too many fans desperate for your attention, Saint Potter?” Malfoy teased, an unmistakable playfulness to his voice. Harry didn’t even mind the use of his mocking nickname; its use felt more like an inside joke than an insult in this context.   
“Yes actually. Far too many,” Harry answered honestly, making Malfoy draw back slightly in surprise.   
“Seriously? You’re complaining about being adored?” he said incredulously, raising a single eyebrow. Harry himself briefly jealous that he couldn’t control his facial features with such ease.   
“It’s not as if they actually adore me, just the idea of me. The idea of a hero.” Harry shrugged and leaned back in his seat. He became quiet as he spoke. “They wouldn’t adore me so much if they knew the real me.”   
“You mean the you who cheated in Potions, or the you who stalked me all sixth year, or the you who uses Dark Magic on his school rival?” Malfoy questioned, articulating his words with an indescribable elegance that caused Harry to not fully realize what he was saying until moments later. Once the words did hit him, his first instinct was to be angry, but he quickly realized that he didn’t really have anything to be angry about: everything Malfoy said was true.   
“Yeah, that me,” he mumbled. He watched Malfoy’s expression, waiting for the mocking insult, but it never came. Instead, Malfoy kept his face completely blank as he said:  
“I think even knowing all of that, they’d still adore you.” Harry cocked his head, completely lost. He was still waiting for the other shoe to drop. “You’re an arrogant, insufferable, brash moron,” Harry rolled his eyes. There it is. “But you’ve done far more good than bad. The mistakes you make don’t negate the fact that, in their eyes, you’re still a hero.”  
Harry swallowed awkwardly, unsure how to respond. If it wasn’t Malfoy speaking, he could almost imagine that he’d just been given a… compliment?   
“Why else do you think Granger and Weasel are friends with you? It’s not like you’re a fantastic conversationalist,” Malfoy added, seeming to feel the need to insult Harry just once more. Harry snorted and stared down at his hands. A few moments of silence passed before he spoke.   
“I never did apologize, you know,” he started, glancing up at the blonde. “For the whole, Sectumsempra thing.” Malfoy bowed his head and made a few marks on the paper in front of him. “I’m sorry.”  
“I did try to Crucio you,” Harry thought he heard Malfoy mumble.   
“Even so,” Harry shook his head. “I shouldn’t have done it. I didn’t even know what the spell did, I just knew that you were supposed to use it on enemies.” Malfoy didn’t respond, so Harry sighed and shuffled through his own stack of parchment.   
“Well, it’s about time,” Malfoy finally said haughtily, sticking his nose up in the air. “Bleeding out on a bathroom floor isn’t exactly dignified, I’ll have you know.”  
“Oh, and you’re the expert on dignified, are you?” he retorted lightheartedly.   
“More than you are at least.” His stoic expression cracked for an instant to reveal a slight smile. “After all, I am a Malfoy.” The room went quiet once again, but this time, neither boy looked down to work; they simply stared at each other.   
Harry felt his stomach twist in guilt. Before this term, he felt bad for what he had done to Malfoy, but now that he knew of the silver scars that marked his body forever, he felt horrible. The fact that Malfoy wasn’t saying anything about it didn’t help either. It was like he assumed Harry didn’t know, and that he didn’t want him to know.   
“I didn’t know it would scar like that,” he finally said softly, refusing to look away. Realization flashed across Malfoy’s eyes and in a blur of movement, Malfoy was now leaning across the table, gripping Harry’s wrist tightly.   
“How did you see them?” he asked, his voice shaking with rage and… was that humiliation? “Have you been following me?”  
“No!” Harry shoved Malfoy away and brushed off his sleeve. “I couldn’t sleep one night, so I went down to the infirmary to get some Dreamless Sleep potion, but you were there and I… I saw them.”  
Malfoy took a deep breath, calming down, and sat back in his chair.   
“Dark Magic. Never quite healed right.” He shrugged and bent over his papers.   
“Why didn’t you say anything?” Harry pressed gently. He couldn’t think of any reason why Malfoy would choose not to hold this over Harry’s head.   
“Professor Snape told me you didn’t know what the spell was capable of. You already seemed to feel bad enough as it was; I didn’t think it would help for you to know that you had permanently disfigured me.”  
“Hold on,” Harry said, shaking his head. “You’re saying, you didn’t want me to feel guilty?”  
“No. Yes. I-” Malfoy paused, eyes darting around the room. He lowered his voice and talked down to the desk. “I suppose… I suppose on some level, I thought I… I deserved it.”  
Harry sat quietly for a few minutes, wishing he knew what to say. A small, conscience part of him wanted to agree, and say that he did deserve it, but to his surprise, he mostly found himself wanting to reassure the Slytherin across from him: tell him that he could never deserve something like that, that it wasn’t his fault he was forced to do so many terrible things. This overwhelming urge terrified Harry, so instead, he let their conversation drop, and moved on to ask Malfoy about something tha had been bothering him for a while now.  
“Malfoy?”  
“What?” The blonde boy didn’t look up.   
“You stay in detention to avoid the other Slytherins?” Harry clarified.  
“I do believe I’ve already admitted that, yes,” Malfoy said, and Harry could hear the eyeroll in his voice.   
“So you’d really rather spend three hours grading essays with me than with your house?” This caused Malfoy to let his eyes flicker up towards Harry. “I mean, they can’t be that bad.”  
“They can,” Malfoy assured, his grip on his quill tightening.   
“But you hate me.” Harry waited for Malfoy to agree, or nod, or something. But he got no such reaction. Instead, Malfoy just stared at him, unblinking. “Can I ask you another question?”  
“No,” Malfoy said curtly, returning to his work.   
“I’m going to assume you said yes.” Harry ignored Malfoy’s sigh or protest. “Why do you hate me so much if you wanted to be friends with me back in first year?” Malfoy slowly lifted his head, blinking at Harry. He cocked his head to the side and raised an eyebrow.  
“You’re kidding, right?” he said finally.  
“No…” Harry furrowed his eyebrows and peered at Malfoy, now even more curious.   
“You rejected my friendship. You humiliated me in front of the Weasel. You didn’t even consider my offer,” Malfoy listed, his gaze unwavering.   
“In our first conversations, you insulted both Hagrid and Ron, who are my friends!” Harry protested. He let out a breath and continued, lowering his tone. “Besides, we were eleven. Do you really think that one embarrassing moment is enough to justify your hatred?”  
“Do you think it’s enough to justify yours?” Malfoy snapped, face hard.   
“What’s that supposed to mean?”   
“It means you’re the one who hated me first, Potter,” he snarled, the ur behind his eyes betraying the anger written over the rest of his face. “I understand that I was a prick when I was eleven, but I didn’t know any better. You’ve met my family; I didn’t have anyone to teach me the difference between right and wrong.”  
“Yeah, well, you didn’t have to listen,” Harry interjected, defensive. “You didn’t have to stay. You know, Sirius Black?” Malfoy perked up at the name. “He ran away when he was sixteen because he didn’t want to get dragged into his family’s prejudice.” When Malfoy didn’t respond, Harry assumed he had won the argument, and he turned to his papers.   
“And where exactly did he run off to?” A soft voice pulled Harry’s focus. When he lifted his head back up, Malfoy’s face was cool and collected.   
“My father’s home. Him and my dad were best mates,” Harry said. He was about to ask why that mattered when Malfoy interrupted his thoughts.  
“Exactly. Him and your father were best mates.” Harry nodded, confused as to why Malfoy was restating exactly what he just said. “He had people to turn to. He had people to run to. He was a Gryffindor who was friends with blood traitors and mud-” Malfoy stopped himself, shutting his eyes briefly before continuing. “And muggleborns. His family may have been awful, but his friends were good people, with good families. I never had that,” he reminded Harry harshly, the resentment in his voice causing Harry to flinch backwards slightly.   
“When I tried to become your friend, it wasn’t just because you were Harry Potter and you were famous and all that, alright? It was because you defeated The Dark…” Malfoy’s breath hitched and he swallowed thickly. “You defeated He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named when you were a baby. You were the antithesis to darkness, to everything my family stood for. You were the only opportunity I could find to escape.” His eyes burned into the back of Harry’s head, blazing as bright as diamonds. “And I screwed it up,” he added, his gaze softening.   
“You still could have come to me,” Harry said, more gently than he intended. “Even though we weren’t friends, even though we hated each other, you could’ve come to me. I would’ve helped you. I-”  
“No, you wouldn’t have.” Malfoy cut him off, glaring once again. “I might call you ‘Saint Potter’ but you’re not actually saint-like. You’re a good person, but… but you’re not that good.” They sat in complete stillness before Harry spoke, quietly this time.   
“You don’t say his name.”  
“Excuse me?” Malfoy crinkled his eyes in confusion.   
“You never say Voldemort’s name.” Malfoy gasped and pulled back slightly at the name. “There! Come on, you flinch even at the sound of his name. It’s not cursed or anything, you know. Voldemort. He’s dead. You can say it.”  
“I can’t.” Malfoy shook his head, eyes in his lap.   
“Why not?”  
“I just can’t.”  
“Why not? I can say it just fine. Voldemort, Voldemort, Volde-”  
“Shut up!” Malfoy screamed, standing up and slamming his hands on the table.   
“Why won’t you say it?” Harry shouted back, standing as well so they were on equal levels.   
“It’s different for me,” Malfoy growled, teeth bared.   
“How?”  
“Bloody hell, Potter…” The blonde boy ran his fingers through his hair and sighed heavily.   
“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you swear before,” Harry commented absentmindedly.   
“We’ve already established that you don’t know me,” Malfoy said, rolling his eyes.   
“How is it different?” Harry pressed. He wasn’t sure why he cared so much, but he just did.   
“It’s different because…” Malfoy started out talking down towards the floor, and his words became lost. But as soon as he looked in Harry’s eyes, he seemed to find his courage. “Because you didn’t even know who he was until you were eleven. And when you did figure it out, he was the enemy. He was the thing you were supposed to fight.   
“For me, he was the person I was supposed to serve. He didn’t lead his followers through love, he controlled us with fear. One step out of line and you, or the ones you loved, were dead.” Harry ducked his head slightly at that reminder. “Do you know why he ordered me to kill Dumbledore? Hmm?” Malfoy asked, raising an eyebrow. “It’s because he knew I couldn’t do it. It’s because he thought I would die trying. I was supposed to die. It was punishment for my father’s failure at the Department of Mysteries.  
“So I can’t say his name. Not now, not… probably not ever.”  
Malfoy slumped back into his seat, his hands unfurling from the fists they had been in. Harry glanced down and saw small, crescent moon shaped marks on his palms and winced at the sight. He returned to his own chair and stared at the Slytherin boy.   
“You keep insisting that I don’t know you, but then you go and tell me things that I’m fairly certain no one else knows about you,” Harry stated simply. There was no malice, no accusation to his words, just a statement of fact.   
“You asked.” Malfoy shrugged, eyes down.   
“You didn’t have to answer,” Harry replied, his curiosity getting the better of him once again.   
“What do you want from me?” When Malfoy glanced up, Harry became lost in the blonde’s eyes. It was said that the eyes were the windows to the soul, and the more he talked to Malfoy, the more he found this to be true. Whatever emotion the Slytherin boy tried to show, his eyes always revealed his facade. Now, as he searched his currently pale grey irises, he was gobsmacked at the sheer quantity of emotion hidden there.   
There was exhaustion, almost like defeat, like Malfoy felt himself merely a slave to Harry’s will. There was a deep sadness, one that Harry recognized and empathized with, but he couldn’t quite understand why it was there. There was curiosity, and even more strangely… hope. Harry found himself at a loss for words.   
He never answered Malfoy’s question, because he wasn’t quite sure of the answer himself.


	22. That explains a lot

Chapter Twenty-Two

It was the night before the first Quidditch match of the season and Harry couldn’t sleep. The anxiety of the next day kept his mind awake. He had managed to doze off sometime around eleven o’clock, but was quickly awoken by his own nightmares. Harry found his nightmares were at their worst when his stress was high.  
He had tried to recall the dream once he was awake, but it was no use. All he could remember was a flash of green light and the sound of someone screaming.  
Harry reached under his bed and pulled out Sirius’ diary, dusting it off slightly. He hadn’t had a chance to read any further since Wednesday, as Ginny was holding near-nonstop practices and his teachers had decided that this particular week was the best time to start piling on homework, Quidditch match be damned.  
He flipped to the next entry, pulling the curtains around his bed closed and casting lumos. He was eager to read; after the last entry, he was more confused than ever.  
November 7th, 1976  
Dear God (because clearly God is the one reading this, as I am apparently the luckiest person alive),  
Harry chuckled at the odd greeting and continued reading.  
I thought I was good at knowing who fancied me. I really did. I knew that Mary fancied me before she even told Evans, I knew that Martha fancied me before she knew it herself, but I really had no clue about this one until last night.  
Harry furrowed his brows. Did something happen on November 6th that Sirius didn’t record?  
Of course, I had to be sure. So I put my hypothesis to the test, and you’ll never guess what happened…  
The world spun to a stop and Harry was inside the boy’s dormitory, only now, it was nearing late afternoon, the sun blazing bright through the window despite the fall chill. Remus was sprawled across his bed, lying on his back, holding a book above him. He was so entranced by whatever he was reading that he didn’t notice the door open and close, and failed to see Sirius waltz over to him.  
“Lo Moony,” Sirius greeted, flopping down on the bed, his hair falling majestically into his face. Remus nearly jumped off the bed in shock, accidentally dropping his book onto his face. Sirius barked out in laughter and snatched the book, thumbing through it for a moment before deciding it was uninteresting and tossing it aside.  
“Shouldn’t you be down helping James with the Common Room?” Remus said, rubbing his nose.  
“It’s not as if Evans is actually going to say yes this time,” Sirius blew a few strands of hair out of his face and scouched closer to Remus. “Me helping Prongs decorate certainly isn’t going to improve his chances.”  
“Fair point,” Remus admitted. He glanced between them, taking note of their closeness and quickly sprang off the bed, leaving Harry confused. They were always close with each other, why would that bother Remus now? “Anyways, I was just grabbing a book and heading to the library.”  
“Actually, I was sort of… looking for you,” Sirius stammered awkwardly. It was odd to see Sirius awkward; Hary hardly thought it was possible. “We never talked about… you know, what happened last night.”  
“I dunno what you’re talking about,” Remus said, and Harry agreed. He certainly felt that Remus and Sirius’ interaction in the last entry had been… odd, but he also didn’t think that anything significant had happened.  
“Yeah, yeah you do,” Sirius argued, jumping off the bed to face Remus straight on. Granted, the werewolf still had a few inches on him, so Sirius puffed out his chest to appear taller. “I know because you’re doing the face again.”  
“What face?” Remus asked incredulously.  
“The ‘I’m not telling you something face!’” Sirius threw his arms into the air dramatically.  
“This is just my face!” Remus exclaimed, irritated. He drew in a deep breath and collected himself. “Nothing happened, let it go.”  
“If nothing happened, then there’s nothing for me to let go of,” Sirius responded wittily, smirking.  
“You’ve got to be kidding.” Remus sighed and let his face fall into his hands.  
“Actually I’m serious. Sirius Black.”  
“Would you stop with the puns!” Remus groaned, starting towards the door. Sirius stopped him, hands held out in front of him.  
“Sorry, just wait, Remus!”  
“What?” Remus rolled his eyes, but obligingly stopped trying to leave. He stared at Sirius, awaiting an explanation.  
“I need to try something,” Sirius said, swallowing nervously. What he was nervous for exactly, Harry couldn’t say, but then again, he was having trouble processing the fact that he was seeing Sirius Black, admittedly one of the sauvest men alive, nervous.  
“Sirius, for the love of-” Remus began, but he was cut off by Sirius’ lips. Harry gasped and actually fell over, missing the rest of the kiss, because by the time he sat up, Remus was staring at Sirius blankly, shocked and blinking rapidly. “Sirius,” he started slowly. “What the bloody hell are you doing?”  
“Kissing you,” Sirius said after glancing to the side for a moment. Harry was gawking, and he couldn’t seem to close his mouth. Remus took a deep breath and pinched his nose in exasperation.  
“Yes, that much was obvious,” he said finally, glaring. “Why?” Harry nodded without thinking. He also was very curious, and confused, as to why on Earth Sirius would be kissing Remus?  
“Did you like it?” Sirius asked instead of answering, taking a step towards Remus. Remus, in turn, took a step backwards.  
“What kind of-”  
“Did you like it?” Sirius interrupted, repeating his question.  
“That is so beside the point! It is not-” Remus was cut off again, this time because his breath hitched as Sirius took another step forward, his lips only an inch away from Remus’.  
“But did you like it?” He breathed, and Remus’ eyes flickered between Sirius’ eyes and lips for what felt like an eternity.  
“Sirius,” he whispered. “Will you let me talk for one-”  
“Did you like it?” Sirius nudged Remus with his nose, and the taller boy closed his eyes, shutting Sirius out. “Remus?”  
Harry could practically hear his heartbeat in the dead silence. He didn’t think he was holding his breath, but he must’ve been, because there was absolutely no sound in the room, which was good, because if there had been any noise, he wouldn’t have caught Remus say:  
“Yes.”  
“Do you want me to do it again?” Sirius offered, raising his eyebrows. Harry found he could do nothing but sit completely still and watch.  
“Shut up,” Remus growled before he closed the gap between them. His lips pressed against Sirius’ hungrily, and the shorter boy made a small noise of surprise before relaxing into the kiss. Sirius didn’t seem to know where to put his hands, so he let them lay against Remus’ chest. Remus, on the other hand, seemed to know exactly what to do: he grabbed Sirius' hands and pulled them up so they were wrapped around his neck, curling into his tawny brown hair. Then, he pressed his hands into the small of Sirius’ back, causing the brunette to melt slightly at the touch.  
Sirius was on his tiptoes, pulling every part of himself upwards so he could kiss Remus. Eventually, when they pulled apart for a moment, Sirius almost stumbled backwards, only being barely caught by Remus.  
“You’re too bloody tall,” he said, breathing heavily. Remus chuckled softly.  
“Can’t be helped.”  
“Yeah, well,” Sirius reached up again, this time tugging at Remus’ collar. “This would be a whole lot easier if you could lean down.”  
“Or I could do this.” Remus grinned wickedly and before Sirius could do anything about it, he had wrapped his hands under Sirius’ thighs and was carrying him over to one of the desks. He set Sirius down so he was sitting with one leg on either side of Remus’ body.  
“Or you could do that,” Sirius agreed, and they started to kiss again. By now, Harry had regained some control of his reflexes and he smacked his hands against his eyes to block the view. He had to admit, Remus and Sirius were good kissers, but the sight of his future godfather and professor snogging was a bit much for him to handle. “Is this Prongs’ desk?” Harry peered between his fingers to see Sirius gesturing down towards the wooden desk he was sitting on. Remus shrugged.  
“What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”  
As the memory ended, Harry sat up in his bed and threw the diary aside, still processing what he’d just seen. After thinking about it for a moment, the only thing Harry could really say was:  
That explains a lot.


	23. A Quidditch Match and an Unexpected Reaction

Chapter Twenty-Three

“Harry, wake up!”  
Harry woke with a start, springing up in his bed at the sound of shouting. He clasped his hands over his ears and glared at his red-headed friend, who shrugged sheepishly.   
“Sorry, but you were sleeping pretty soundly. I couldn’t think of any other way to get you up,” Ron handed Harry his glasses off of his bedside table. He took them and shoved them onto his face, the room now coming into focus.   
“Did you ever think that maybe if I was sleeping soundly, I didn’t want to be woken up?” Harry grumbled almost incoherently in his sleepy daze.   
“Harry! We have the match today!” Ron exclaimed. Harry shot out of bed, reaching for his Quidditch robes that he’d laid out the night before.   
“Bloody hell! What time is it?” he asked, running his hands through his tousled hair anxiously.   
“Nearly eight.”   
“The match starts at nine! Why didn’t you wake me sooner?” Harry hurriedly changed out of his pajamas and into his robes. He knocked his glasses off in the process, so he bent down to retrieve them. Unfortunately, Holly had woken up as well, and now he was jumping around Harry’s feet, distracting him from finding his glasses.   
“You should be glad I woke you at all!” Ron protested, leaning down and plucking Harry’s glasses off the floor. “It’s no wonder these are constantly broken, you can’t seem to keep them on your face.”  
Harry snatched his glasses back and rushed into the bathroom, brushing his teeth and fixing his hair, to the best of his ability, as quickly as possible.   
“Besides,” Ron followed Harry. “You still have almost an hour before you have to be down on the pitch, that’s plenty of time to eat and get ready.”  
The rest of the morning passed in a blur of frenzied preparation. It certainly didn’t help that Harry was especially anxious about this particular match. It was the first game of the season, which always set the tone for the rest of the year; it was a match against Slytherin; and it was a match against Malfoy.   
Soon enough, he was out on the Quidditch pitch, the crowd roaring around him. He’d spent the last five minute being lectured by Ginny in the locker rooms. He had to admit, she was much better at giving speeches than he ever was. Ginny was, undoubtedly, a leader, and Harry knew that under her, the Gryffindor team was going to be the best they could ever be.   
The Gryffindor, most of Hufflepuff, and part of the Ravenclaw stands were decked out in red and gold banners, streamers, and clothing. It was hard to pick out individuals amongst the jam packed seats (the first and last game of the Quidditch season were always the most highly attended) but Harry spotted and heard Neville and Luna screaming “Go Gryffindor!” Luna was, once again, wearing her lion hat, and Harry couldn’t help but grin at the sight. As he looked closer though, he noticed that she had painted one half of her face with red and gold stripes, and the other half with silver and green. The Gryffindors around her didn’t seem particularly pleased about this.   
About half of Ravenclaw and all of Slytherin were adorned in silver and green attire, and Harry heard the distinct sound of booing when the Gryffindor team entered the field. Of course, the favor was returned when the Slytherin team marched on.   
“Now,” Madame Hooch didn’t greet either team or captain, she simply launched into a commanding voice. “I don’t want any funny business. Your house rivalry will not excuse any dirty tactics or strategies, is that clear?” When she said this, she pointedly looked at Greengrass and the rest of the Slytherin team. Greengrass nodded. “With that out of the way, let the match begin!”  
The trunk was opened and the players shot up into the sky. Harry followed them more slowly, eyeing the field for any flashes of gold. Instead of seeing the Snitch, Malfoy flew into his field of vision.   
The blonde boy sped around the pitch, circling the field and eventually ending up at the opposite end. There was a brief moment when they locked eyes and Harry swore he saw Malfoy give him a slight nod.   
He tore his gaze away from the Slytherin when he heard a roar from the crowd. Gryffindor had scored.   
Dean and Pavarti flew side by side, twisting and turning through the Slytherin team gracefully. Ginny led them, acting as the point to their trio. Harry had never seen her so confident, so fierce. If he still had any feelings for her, he knew his heart would have been pounding at the sight.   
The three Chasers scored again and again and again, to the point where the Slytherin stands seemed to have given up booing. It seemed to Harry, and the crowd, that the outcome of this game was already decided. Gryffindor was one hundred and forty points up; one more score and it didn’t even matter if Slytherin caught the Snitch.   
Suddenly, a flash of silver pulled Harry’s focus to the other side of the field, where Malfoy dove down in a flash of blonde hair and green robes. Harry shot across the pitch like a bullet, following Malfoy, assuming he’d spotted the Snitch. Silently, Harry cursed himself for not seeing it first.   
The crowd followed the pair of boys with their eyes as they zoomed around the field, chasing the Snitch. Unexpectedly, Malfoy pulled up at the last moment, leaving Harry to crash into him. He swerved out of the way at the last moment, barely avoiding getting his head knocked in.   
He spun out for a few moments, holding onto his broom for dear life. Eventually, he skittered to the floor, where he took a deep breath before racing over to Malfoy, who, oddly, was waiting completely still by the Gryffindor stands.   
Harry faced Malfoy head on, his anger apparent on his face.   
“What the bloody hell are you doing, Malfoy?” Harry exclaimed. Malfoy only smirked.   
“I thought I saw the Snitch,” he replied innocently. Realization dawned on Harry and he began to seethe.   
“You tricked me! You never saw the Snitch! You just wanted me to-”  
“Hold that thought,” Malfoy interrupted him, suddenly shooting up towards the sky. Harry chased after him, assuming that the blonde boy wouldn’t pull the same trick twice.   
Gravity and the wind tugged at Harry’s face, making his eyes water. He tried to blink the blurriness away (there was no way he’d be able to catch the Snitch if he couldn’t spot it), which helped his vision slightly. He scanned the sky carefully, and resisted the urge to scream when he realized that once again, there was no Snitch.   
He came to a halt as Malfoy did the same above him.   
“You conniving, dirty, little-”  
“What, you’ve never heard of strategy before?” Malfoy sneered, floating down so he was on Harry’s level. “Oh, I suppose you probably haven’t given that all your wins have been based on dumb luck.”  
“You’re just trying to wear me out, aren’t you?” Harry declared, relaxing his position. He wasn’t going to play along with Malfoy’s game. “See it won’t work now, I know what you’re up to.”  
“Do you?” Malfoy raised an eyebrow, his expression carefully guarded.   
“Look here, Malfoy. You aren’t-” Harry’s words were cut off as Malfoy raced past him, speeding off somewhere to Harry’s right. His first instinct was to chase after him, but then he registered that Malfoy was attempting to manipulate him again. So despite every muscle in his body itching to follow, he stayed put and called after Malfoy.   
“It’s not going to work you know! Can’t pull the same trick three times and expect me to believe it!” Harry huffed and started the slow descent downwards; he hadn’t noticed how high he’d gotten while flying after Malfoy.   
After a few moments, Harry noted that Malfoy hadn’t returned yet. If he was trying to trick Harry, wouldn’t he make sure that he was following him?  
He glanced in the direction that the blonde had raced off to, and cursed aloud when he caught sight of the golden Snitch just inches out of Malfoy’s grasp. Luckily for Harry, it was at this moment that the Snitch decided to shoot down, leaving Malfoy in the dust. The boys both sped after the little winged ball, eventually coming neck and neck.   
All too soon, the ball shot up again, forcing the pair to change directions suddenly. Harry perceived the sudden switch a moment too late, so now he was trailing behind Malfoy. He realized that earlier, Malfoy hadn’t been flying at full capacity. Now, he was a speed demon, whipping around like a fierce winter wind.   
Harry tried his best to keep up, but little by little, he found he was falling a few inches, a meter, a few meters behind. He couldn’t see how there was any possible way he’d be able to catch the Snitch now if it kept on its upward path.   
But thankfully, Harry’s prayers were answered: the Snitch came to a sudden stop for just a brief instant before it started to plummet down. Harry had noticed before Malfoy, and the blonde boy was scrambling to come to a halt as the Snitch fell past him.   
Looking up, Harry realized all he had to do now was stop and wait for the Snitch to fall into his hands. He positioned himself right under the Snitch, held out his hand and-  
“Heads up!” A voice shouted from above him. Harry barely had time to react to the sight of Malfoy jumping off his broom and falling down in a nosedive after the Snitch. The Slytherin’s fingers closed around the ball and his other hand managed to grab hold of Harry’s broom.   
Harry felt a lurch forward as his broom teetered dangerously to support Malfoy’s weight while he hung off of it, clinging on with one hand. He still hadn’t quite registered exactly what had happened as Malfoy’s broom started its slow descent down, and Malfoy let go of Harry’s broom in favor of landing on his own.   
“Luck will only get you so far, Potter,” Malfoy remarked before diving back down to the field, Snitch in hand.   
As Harry flew down, his mind raced. He’d almost had it. The Snitch would’ve been his if Malfoy hadn’t leaped off his broom and went into freefall.   
When he caught sight of Ginny’s face, his stomach lurched. This was her very first game as captain, and she’d been perfect. If it weren’t for Malfoy, they would’ve won.   
“Look Ginny, I-” he started to apologize. The only other time he’d been the reason for Gryffindor’s failure was when he fainted due to the dementors.   
“It’s not your fault,” she cut in assertively. She still looked awfully disappointed, but there was a fire behind her eyes. “I don’t think anyone would’ve expected that kind of a move.”  
“You saw?” Ginny nodded.   
“As soon as you started chasing Malfoy around the field, most of the focus went to you two.”   
“Well,” Harry began, feeling reassured, but still slightly guilty. “You were bloody fantastic Ginny. Even though we lost, I don’t think anyone’s bound to forget your performance.”  
“I know,” she smiled and left Harry’s side to shake hands with Greengrass, who, in Harry’s opinion, looked way too smug.   
Despite losing, Gryffindor tower was still buzzing with celebration when the team returned. Seamus claimed that he tried to sneak in some Firewhiskey, but he had to abandon his plan due to Flitch almost discovering him. Nonetheless, most of the Gryffindors were acting like they may as well have been drunk for how rowdy they were being.   
A few hours into the party, Harry was sitting on a couch next to Ginny and Luna, who had somehow managed to sneak inside the Gryffindor common room, not that he was complaining. The couch was easily big enough for four people, but Ginny and Luna chose to squeeze next to each other, Luna’s head on Ginny’s shoulder. Ron sat on the floor, and he and Harry had just finished a game of Exploding Snap. Hermione was attempting to work on homework in the far corner of the common room, but Harry doubted she’d gotten anything done with all the ruckus.   
“Oh come on,” A voice groaned. Harry looked up and spotted Dean flopping onto the chair opposite Harry, followed closely by Seamus.   
“I’m serious! That was some of the best playing I’ve ever seen!” Seamus sat on the arm of the chair, nearing toppling over onto Dean. Dean reached up his arm and managed to keep Seamus from falling, gripping the fabric of his shirt in his hands. “You’re brilliant,” he said, softer, leaning in closer towards Dean.   
“Seamus,” Dean whispered warningly, or at least that’s what Harry thought he said. He couldn’t actually hear over all the chatter. Then, Dean cupped his hand over his mouth and said something to Seamus that Harry didn’t catch.   
Whatever it was, it made Seamus’ face flush red and he glanced in Harry’s direction. He immediately hopped off the chair and took a step away from Dean.   
“You did great too, Harry,” he stammered, coughing into his hand. “That was a nasty trick Malfoy pulled, anyone would’ve fallen for it. Oh, and you too, Ginny, and Ron,” he added, nodding in Ginny’s direction.   
“Thanks,” the siblings said in unison, although Ron’s attention was fairly fixed on gathering his cards, and Ginny seemed to be in some kind of quiet conversation with Luna.   
“Yeah, thanks,” Harry said, glancing between Seamus and Dean. They reminded him of something, of someone. More precisely, two someones. They reminded him of…   
And just like that, realization hit Harry like a truck. Just like with Remus and Sirius, he’d assumed all their odd interactions were just the result of their close friendship, but now that he was looking back, he wondered how he ever could have mistaken their relationship for purely platonic. All the touching, all the whispers, the giggles: all of those things would have been out of place in a friendship, but certainly not in a relationship.   
“Oh my God,” Harry breathed, staring blankly. His mouth fell open as he gawked. Dean’s eyes flitted between Seamus and Harry and his eyes began to grow wide. He started to open his mouth to say something before Ron interrupted.   
“What?” he asked, glancing up at Harry and noticing his shocked expression.   
“I… I’ve just realized something,” he managed to respond, finally blinking. Ron looked up at Harry expectantly, waiting for him to explain. Seamus swallowed and looked towards Dean, who shook his head ever so slightly at Harry. “I… I have detention later,” Harry said. It was true: he did have detention that evening with Slughorn, both that certainly wasn’t the thing he’d had a realization about.   
“With Draco?” Luna chimed in. Harry had briefly forgotten that Luna and Ginny were there.   
“Yeah,” Harry nodded, and finally pulled his gaze away from Seamus and Dean.   
“Good luck with that,” Ginny said, giving Harry a sympathetic look. “Don’t let him rub it in too much, yeah?”  
“Rub what-” Harry began, so perplexed by Dean and Seamus that he’d forgotten about their loss to Slytherin. “Oh right. That.”  
“Speaking of which,” Luna piped up, lifting her head off of Ginny’s shoulders. “It’s nearly a quarter to seven. Isn’t it time for you to go?”  
Harry furrowed his eyebrows and glanced at the clock. She was right, he should start heading down to the Potions classroom now, although he knew from previous experience that it was possible to get there in five minutes if you ran.   
“Yeah,” he cleared his throat and stood up from the couch. “I should probably start heading down there.”   
“You know, I just remembered,” Dean stood up as well, facing Harry. “Seamus and I need to head to the library to ask a question, we’ll walk with you.”   
“We do?” Seamus asked, tilting his head. Dean gave him a pointed look and suddenly Seamus was nodding along. “We do.”  
“Er- alright,” Harry agreed, shrugging. He exited the common room, Seamus and Dean in tow.  
As soon as they stepped out into the hall, Dean cleared his throat and turned to face Harry. Harry hadn’t really noticed before, but Dean was a few inches taller than he was.   
“So…”  
“So.” Harry nodded, not really sure what to say. Seamus’ eyes flitted between them for a few moments before he sighed and spoke up.   
“Clearly neither of you are actually going to say anything so I’ll stop beating around the bush.” He stopped in front of Harry, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m guessing you know about us?”  
“Er…” Harry trailed off, words failing him. Instead, he looked down at his feet and he nodded.   
“You have a problem with this?” Seamus took a threatening step forward, gesturing between him and Dean. Dean held out his hand, stopping Seamus from moving any closer, but glared at Harry with a similar intensity.   
“Of course not!” Harry exclaimed, holding up his hands defensively. “It’s just… not exactly what I expected. I mean, I never thought that… ”   
“Well,” Dean’s gaze softened, as did Seamus’, and the three boys resumed walking. “Harry, you do have to admit, you can be a bit oblivious about these sorts of things.”   
Harry opened his mouth to disagree, but he closed it when he admitted that Dean had a point. He had realized about Remus and Sirius until they were literally kissing in front of him, and the only reason he had an inkling of what was going on between Hermione and Ron was because they were his two closest friends in the world and he’d watched their romance unfurl for the past seven years.   
“So it’s not a secret?” Harry clarified. From the way the pair had been acting, he’d assumed they wanted to keep their relationship quiet.   
“Not entirely,” Seamus admitted. “Ginny and Luna know, because, well…” he glanced at Harry, not finishing his sentence. “Well, they just know. And because they know, of course, Neville knows, and Hermione knows because she managed to figure it out weeks ago.”  
“Huh,” was all Harry could say.   
“Of course Ron hasn’t figured it out yet.” Dean chuckled. “If there’s anyone more oblivious than you, it’s him.”  
“But not everyone knows,” Seamus said seriously. “And, for the time being, we’d like to keep it that way. Not everyone is accepting, you know.”   
“So, it’s like it is in the Muggle world?” After watching his father and friends react to Marlene in Sirius’ diary, Harry had begun to think that being gay or bisexual was more widely accepted than it was in the Muggle world.  
“It can be a lot worse, actually,” Dean said grimly. He glanced at Seamus. “At least neither of us are purebloods. That lot is especially bad, since they’re so obsessed with producing heirs and all.”  
“Oh,” Harry said, not sure what else he could say. For some reason, this information made his stomach turn.   
“So…” Dean swallowed, looking awkward. “You won’t tell anyone?” He shifted uncomfortably.   
“No, I won’t tell anyone. You have my word.” Harry nodded at them and watched them both visibly relax.   
“Good,” Dean breathed, his face lighting up into a smile. “Well then, I guess we should probably go back to the common room, let you go to your detention in peace.”  
With that, the pair left Harry and headed back in the direction of Gryffindor tower. Harry continued onwards towards the Potions classroom and was greeted by Slughorn when he arrived.   
“Harry, my boy!” He clapped Harry on the back and steered him inside the classroom. “I assume Mr. Malfoy will be joining us shortly. So sorry to hear about your loss in the Quidditch match this afternoon.” Slughorn beamed. “Of course, I can’t be too upset about the outcome: Slytherin is my house, after all.”  
A moment later, the door swung open to reveal Malfoy, dressed in a shimmering silver button-down, his hair perfectly groomed, face painted with green and silver stripes, and uncharacteristically grinning. When he caught sight of Harry, his grin transformed into a smug smirk.   
Normally, Harry would’ve done anything to wipe that look right off Malfoy’s face, but for some inexplicable reason, now, he couldn’t help but smile back.   
“Ah, there you are Mr. Malfoy,” Slughorn greeted him more warmly than he ever had before. “Fantastic show at the match this afternoon.”   
“Thank you, sir.” Malfoy dipped his head slightly in a gesture that Harry could only describe as regal.   
“I assume there was quite the celebration in the dungeons, yes?” Slughorn raised his eyebrows and gestured towards the face paint on Malfoy’s face.   
“Yes, sir.” Malfoy nodded. It occurred to Harry how differently Malfoy treated Slughorn versus Snape. With Snape, there was always a kind of familiarity there. Harry realized that, in a way, Snape acted to Malfoy as Dumbledore had acted to Harry. But with Slughorn, there was no such friendliness. Whenever he addressed the Professor, it was always formally, and always respectfully.   
“Very good, very good.” Slughorn smiled nostalgically, probably reminiscing on his days as a student at Hogwarts. “Unfortunately, it’s more grading today. I do have quite a few first year essays left.”  
Harry groaned internally. He shared a brief glance with Malfoy, who looked just as irritated.   
“Here they are,” Slughorn said while handing Harry and Malfoy a large stack of papers each. “I must be off. See you both in three hours!”   
Slughorn exited the room, leaving Malfoy and Harry alone. Before Malfoy could brag about his win against Gryffindor, Harry shuffled across the room and took a seat in the corner, pulling out his quill and starting to correct. The blonde boy didn’t follow him; he took a seat at his regular table and followed suit, grading in silence.   
Harry knew it was only a matter of time before Malfoy couldn’t hold it in any longer. After all, Malfoy himself had admitted he didn’t actually have to attend detention; he was only there to avoid his fellow Slytherins. But clearly, the Slytherins held no hatred towards the former Death Eater after today’s match. Malfoy wouldn’t have celebrated with the rest of his house if they still harbored resentment towards him.   
All of this, of course, only could mean one thing: Malfoy had come to today’s detention with the sole purpose of rubbing his victory in Harry’s face.   
Sure enough, it only took a few minutes of quiet before Malfoy cracked.   
“Told you I’d beat you Potter.” Malfoy’s snide voice cut through the silence. His back was turned so Harry couldn’t see his face, but he could practically feel the smirk emanating off him.   
Harry fought the urge to send a bitter retort and realized that, in his experience, an insult was not the best way to put the blonde boy in his place. He waltzed over to Malfoy’s desk and took a seat on the edge of it.   
“And you looked damn good on that broom while you flew too.” He winked at Malfoy and the blonde boy gawked. His cheeks colored and he muttered something under his breath that Harry could only assume was some kind of incoherent insult. “What was that?”  
“I said,” Malfoy looked up from the papers he sat down to grade as he addressed Harry. “Shut up.” Harry made a point of staring into the Syltherin’s eyes. When he remained silent, Malfoy became even more agitated. “Now what?”  
“You have really nice eyes.” It wasn’t a lie. Malfoy did have nice eyes, as long as Harry ignored who they belonged to. They weren’t vessels of golden honey like Ginny’s were; they were cold and silvery and stormy, like waves crashing on a rocky beach. Staring into them wasn’t comforting or particularly pleasant; instead it was exhilarating, like standing on the edge of a cliff, only inches away from plummeting down.  
Harry expected Malfoy to become increasingly flustered the more he bothered him, but instead, Malfoy sighed and slumped in his seat, although the blush on his face was still evident.   
“Stop,” he muttered, Harry only barely catching the words. He ran his fingers through his hair, his shirt sleeve falling just low enough that Harry could see the top of his dark mark. “Just… stop.”  
“Make me,” Harry challenged, trying to get a rise out of Malfoy. He didn’t like this defeated version of the Slytherin boy; it reminded him of the Malfoy from sixth year, Voldemort’s reluctant puppet.  
“Sod off Potter.” Malfoy didn’t take Harry’s bait. Instead, he began grading the papers in front of him, acting like Harry didn’t exist. Harry couldn’t explain why, but this, Malfoy ignoring him, made him more angry than any insult ever could.   
“Coward,” Harry breathed as he walked towards his own side of the classroom.   
“What did you just say?” Harry heard a growl from behind him. He smiled, pleased that he finally had annoyed Malfoy enough to warrant a reaction.   
“I called you a coward.” Harry shrugged and turned back to face Malfoy, who had risen out of his seat, hands curled into fists at his sides. “Come on, you can’t be surprised, Draco My-father-will-hear-about-this Malfoy.”  
“How dare you-”  
“What are you going to do? Go running back home to daddy?” Harry’s lip curled.   
“After everything that he’s done, do you really think that-”  
“Face it Malfoy, you’re a bloody coward.” Harry’s smile was gone, replaced by a menacing scowl. While he was talking, he had made his way back to Malfoy, who was now standing in front of him, seething with anger.   
“I. Am. Not. A. Coward,” Malfoy said darkly with gritted teeth. His knuckles were turning white as he clenched his fists. The sight of him so worked up made Harry swallow nervously.  
“Prove it,” Harry snapped, glaring into irises of stormy silver.   
Harry wasn’t quite sure what he was expecting: a hex, a punch in the face, a heart-crushing insult. But he certainly was not expecting to feel Malfoy’s lips crashing against his own. One of his hands pressed firmly against Harry’s chest while the other cupped the side of his face. It was a desperate, needy kiss, and Malfoy pushed against Harry feverishly.   
Before Harry fully realized what was happening, he was instinctively kissing back. Even though Malfoy’s mouth was aggressive, his fingers danced along Harry’s jawline nervously: gently even. Malfoy’s tongue danced at the edge of Harry’s lips as Harry gripped at the blonde boy’s collar with his left hand, ready to push him away. But he never did.   
It wasn’t anything like kissing Ginny or Cho. It wasn’t gentle or sweet or mindless. It was messy and dark and sent Harry’s heart and head racing.   
Suddenly, Malfoy pulled away and stumbled backwards, slipping out of Harry’s reach. He touched his fingers to his now swollen lips and couldn’t seem to decide whether to look at Harry or avoid looking at him, so his eyes kept flickering back and forth.   
“Stay away from me Potter.” His voice was breathless as he backed up, eyes now glued to Harry as if he was scared the messy-haired boy was about to strike. “This never happened.”  
He turned and practically sprinted out of the classroom. Harry was left wondering what had just happened.


	24. A Good Friend and a Silent Evening

Chapter Twenty-Four

In the day that followed, Harry made every attempt to talk to Malfoy, and Malfoy managed to avoid him every time.   
After running off that Saturday night, Malfoy had been caught by Filch Out of bed past curfew, resulting in him earning a week of actual detentions. This meant that Malfoy would have to face Harry on Monday evening, but the blonde Slytherin was completely elusive through all on Sunday.   
Harry searched the library, the Great Hall, the grounds by the Great Lake, the Quidditch pitch, and he even stopped by the Potions classroom before dinner to check if Malfoy was there, but no luck. Obviously, the blonde was taking advantage of his newly rekindled acceptance into Slytherin and staying in the one place he knew Harry couldn’t enter: the Slytherin common room.   
At dinner, Harry ignored his food and friends in favor of searching the Slytherin table for any signs of a familiar silver-blonde head. Several times, Hermione asked him what he was looking at, and everytime he gave her some barely coherent excuse. Eventually, his friends gave up wondering what Harry was so distracted by, and let him presumably stare off into space.   
That night was long, but dreamless, which Harry was grateful for; he didn’t need to be having nightmares in the midst of his utter confusion. He woke up feeling not so well rested, but even more motivated to speak with Malfoy. They had Defense together that day, so it wasn’t as if he could completely avoid Harry without missing his classes entirely, and Malfoy didn’t seem like the type to miss class without good reason.   
To Harry’s luck, he was correct. Malfoy was, in fact, standing in front of the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom when he arrived, speaking to Zabini and Parkinson in hushed tones. As soon as Harry walked up, their conversation fell silent and they stared at Harry.   
“I need to talk to-” Harry tried to lock eyes with Malfoy, but the Slytherin kept his gaze on the ground, even as his face turned pink. Zabini and Parkinson completely ignored Harry, pretending like they hadn’t heard him speak, and ushered Malfoy inside the classroom.   
He trudged inside the room, hoping that he’d be able to pull Malfoy aside for a few minutes before the start of class, but unfortunately, Professor Noble decided to start class a little early that day.   
“We will be continuing our work on dueling this class, but next week, we’ll be starting a new unit, so come prepared,” she said, sitting on the edge of her desk with surprising ease. Hermione raised her hand.   
“What is the new unit about?”  
“It’s a surprise,” she said ominously, winking. Most of the students began to whisper excitedly about what their next unit could possibly be on, but Hermione grew increasingly agitated.   
“You said to come prepared, how are we supposed to come prepared if you won’t tell us what we’ll be studying?” Hermione kept her voice level, but Harry could see her frustration beginning to bubble at the surface.   
“Defense Against the Dark Arts is all about being prepared for the worst. Even if you don’t know what the worst will be,” she explained, still smiling. Despite Hermione’s mixed attitude about her, Professor Noble had taken quite the liking to Hermione; it was almost as if she liked to be challenged in her own classroom.   
Hermione put her hand down reluctantly, begrudgingly accepting that she wouldn’t know their next unit until the next class.   
“Please get into your dueling partnerships and begin when ready.” With that, the class stood and made their way to their partners. Harry, however, began to instead walk in Malfoy’s direction. He was stopped by a strong hand on his shoulder.   
“I believe I’m your partner for this assignment, Potter,” a deep, cool voice said. Harry whipped around and came face to face with Zabini.   
“Yes, right,” Harry said, nodding and trying to discreetly sneak a glance in Malfoy’s direction. “I was just going to-”   
“No, you weren’t.” Zabini cut him off and steered him to the opposite end of the classroom, where he immediately pulled out his wand and got into a dueling position. Harry didn’t follow suit; he had other things on his mind.   
“Zabini,” Harry began, watching the other boy’s face for any sort of reaction (not that he expected to see anything; from the last two months of dueling Zabini, he’d learned that the Slytherin boy hardly ever showed any emotion, usually settling on a vaguely bored expression). “Is Malfoy-”  
“He doesn’t want to talk to you,” he interrupted coolly. Zabini always sounded distant, but this was different, this wasn’t just his natural disposition; he was being intentionally cold.   
“You don’t even know what I was going to ask!” Harry protested.  
“You were going to ask if you could talk to Draco, and the answer is no,” he said, lowering his wand as he realized there was no way Harry was going to let this go.   
“Actually, I was going to ask if he’s been avoiding me,” Harry corrected, although the intention behind his question was the same.   
“Yes,” Zabini stated plainly, raising his wand in the slightly surprised silence that followed. “I would’ve thought even you could’ve figured that out. Now, are you ready to duel or what?”   
Harry ignored Zabini and glanced over towards the other side of the room where Ron and Malfoy were mid duel. He was a wreck.   
No one who wasn’t paying close attention would’ve noticed it, but Harry was paying close attention. Malfoy’s hair, which was usually meticulously groomed, was only half-heartedly slicked back, so a few front pieces fell into his face in a way that made Harry wonder why Malfoy didn’t wear his hair like that more often. His tie was done sloppily, like he’d done it in a hurry and hadn’t gotten the chance to make sure it was perfectly in place. Even his face, which was usually carefully guarded, was uncharacteristically expressive, his eyes wild. Something about it made Harry’s heart pound.   
“Is he alright?” Harry asked once he’d turned out and realized that he’d been staring off in Malfoy’s direction for a solid minute. Zabini watched him carefully, his eyes gliding over Harry like a hawk eyeing its prey. Then, he blinked several times and spoke.   
“Of course he’s not alright. What kind of question is that?”   
“But he-” Harry began, but he was once again cut off. He was starting to get slightly annoyed by the number of times Zabini had interrupted him.   
“You’ve been manipulating him and tricking him by toying with emotions you don’t understand in an effort to humiliate him.” Zabini spoke softly, but cruelly, and Harry gulped despite not truly understanding what Zabini was talking about. What could he possibly mean by ‘emotions you don’t understand?’ “Am I wrong?”   
“It’s not like that, I…” Harry trailed off, not entirely sure what he was defending himself for. He had gathered that Zabini knew about his strategy for messing with Malfoy, but he still couldn’t understand why it was such a bad thing. First Luna, now Zabini? Why was everyone so concerned with a few harmless winks and pick up lines?  
Although, Harry couldn’t shake off the feeling that there was something wrong about it. And he couldn’t dismiss the tiny, but insistent voice in the back of his head, telling him that his teasing meant something more than just a joke.   
“You what?” Zabini waited for Harry’s answer, but it never came. Harry didn’t know what he could say.   
“Hold on,” he began instead. “What do you know?” If Zabini knew that Malfoy was avoiding Harry, then did he also know about Malfoy kissing him last Saturday night?  
Zabini rolled his eyes and gave the barest hint of a smirk as he spoke.   
“More than you, obviously.” Harry narrowed his eyes, deciding to take a risk and assume that Zabini did know about the kiss.   
“Then, do you know why he-”  
“Yes,” Zabini answered, not letting Harry reach the end of his question. Harry waited for Zabini to explain further, but he didn’t.  
“Can you tell me?” he finally asked, sighing.   
“It’s not my place,” Zabini said after a moment of consideration.   
“But-”  
“It’s not my place,” he repeated, more firmly this time. Harry knew he wasn’t going to get anything else out of Zabini for the time being, so he nodded reluctantly.   
He retrieved his wand from his bag and saluted Zabini, showing that he was ready to duel. Zabini gave him a curt nod, and they began.   
It was vastly different from any other duel they’d had. Zabini attacked Harry with an intensity that he’d never seen before. With every hex he dodged, Zabini launched another one his way. Harry was barely able to deflect the attacks, much less go on the offensive himself. At least he now knew what Zabini could do when he was actually making an effort.   
Pretty soon, Zabini had backed Harry into a corner, both literally and figuratively. He had nowhere else to go. Zabini aimed his wand at Harry’s throat, and Harry waited for the final attack, but it never came.   
When he opened his eyes, Zabini was standing and brushing off his clothes, even though they were immaculate. Harry looked up into Zabini’s eyes: his irises were almost as dark as his pupils, leaving Harry to feel as if he were being sucked into a vast void of darkness. Zabini held out his hand to help Harry stand up. Harry took it.   
“I will tell you this,” he started, eyeing Harry warily. “Draco may be occasionally insufferable, but he is my friend. And if you hurt him,” Zabini leaned in closer, his grip on Harry’s hand tightening dangerously. “You’ll have to answer to me.”   
Harry swallowed nervously and gave a quick nod. Immediately, Zabini released his hand and the murderous expression on his face faded. Harry noted that most Slytherins he knew had the uncanny ability to mask their emotions as quickly as they’d shown them; perhaps it was a house trait.   
They spent the rest of class dueling in silence. Apparently, Zabini was no longer satisfied with Harry winning. Harry still beat him a few times, but he’d lost even more. The Slytherin boy was a force to be reckoned with.   
Once class was over, Harry was tempted to rush after Malfoy and confront him, but under Zabini’s watchful gaze, he decided against it. He waited for Hermione and Ron to pack up and walked with them towards the Great Hall instead.   
“Harry, are you alright?” Hermione asked once they’d sat down. Harry was poking at his food, thinking.   
“Hmm?” He hadn’t fully caught what Hermione said. She sighed.   
“You’ve been sort of… off these last few days,” Ron explained, his face concerned. “Has something happened?”  
An image of Malfoy’s lips crashing against his own flooded Harry’s mind, and he quickly shook it away. He wasn’t sure exactly why, but the idea of informing his friends about this latest development seemed somehow wrong.   
“No, nothing like that. I’ve just been… tired,” Harry lied lamely. When his friends continued to peer at him, he continued. “With all the nightmares and stuff,” he added.   
Hermione nodded and her face softened, leaving Harry feeling instantly guilty: he hated lying to his friends.   
“Are they getting worse?” she pried.   
“No, I think it’s just…” Harry paused, thinking of an excuse. “Stress. You know, with the Quidditch match and everything? Just residual stress making them worse.”   
“Okay.” Hermione nodded, accepting Harry’s explanation even though she still seemed apprehensive.   
Although Harry technically attended the rest of his classes that day, he wasn’t really there. He let his mind wander to a certain blonde Slytherin boy and didn’t let his focus adjust to reality until dinner, when he remembered that Malfoy would have to interact with him at detention later than evening.   
Never before had Harry been so early for detention. He rushed down to the Potions classroom as soon as he had scarfed down his dinner, and this time he checked the door to see if Slughorn was already there. Sure enough, the door was unlocked, so Harry let himself into the classroom.   
“Harry! I’m surprised to see you,” Slughorn wandered over towards Harry. “It’s only six thirty. I didn’t expect to see you in here until about a minute before seven.” The Professor chuckled to himself.   
“Just… didn’t have anywhere else to be, I suppose,” Harry said, taking a seat at one of the tables.   
“Nowhere to be? Well, certainly that can’t be right.” Slughorn strode over to his desk and sat down in his large, plush chair. “You’re young and famous! You should be living life to the fullest, taking advantage of your youth. You know, during my teenage years…”  
Harry tuned out Slughorn’s rambling about his days of youth, nodding occasionally to pretend like he was listening. His eyes stayed glued to the door as he waited for Malfoy to come in.   
About thirty seconds before seven o’clock, the blonde waltzed into the room, stopping dead in his tracks when he spotted Harry. His eyes were wide like a deer in the headlights.   
“Mr. Malfoy, so glad you could join us!” Slughorn ambled towards Malfoy and looped an arm around his shoulders. “Although, I suppose this time, you didn’t have much choice in the matter, eh?” he added under his breath, smiling. Malfoy’s face remained unchanged.   
“Well, you’ll be reorganizing some paperwork today.” Slughorn gestured towards his desk, beckoning the boys to follow.   
Harry took this opportunity to slide next to Malfoy, close enough so he could feel his body heat radiating against him. Malfoy noticed this a moment too late, when he was already backed against a desk, and him moving was no longer a possibility. Harry leaned in even closer and whispered:  
“We need to talk.”   
He waited for Malfoy’s response while Slughorn opened and closed various drawers in his desk, rummaging around for the paperwork he was looking for.   
“This’ll only take a moment,” Slughorn glanced up from his desk. “I’ve forgotten where I placed them.” He turned his attention back to the desk.   
Harry nudged Malfoy in the side, urging him to say something, but when the blonde boy flinched away from the touch, Harry took a small step away, giving Malfoy room to breathe. The Slytherin boy seemed to relax a little at the distance between them and took a deep breath, composing his face to be like stone.   
“No,” came his harsh whispered response. He didn’t even look at Harry, instead keeping his eyes glued straight forward. Harry was about to protest when Slughorn came up from his desk, a stack of papers in hand.   
“Here we are.” He handed part of the stack to each of the boys. “I need these records organized by year. Shouldn’t be too hard.”   
Harry glanced down at the parchment, observing that they were to be sorting school records of student grades.   
“I’ll be off then,” Slughorn said casually, and panic flashed behind Malfoy’s eyes.   
“Professor-” Malfoy started, but Harry quickly intervened.   
“Have a nice evening, Sir!” he called after Slughorn. The Professor nodded and exited the room.   
Harry turned towards Malfoy, now sure that the blonde could no longer escape him any longer.   
“Malfoy, about the-”   
“Muffliato!” Malfoy shouted, and Harry held up his hands defensively before he realized the Slytherin was aiming his wand at himself.   
“What are you doing?” Harry shouted. Malfoy looked at him, cocked his head, smirked, and then mouthed, I can’t hear you.  
“Did you seriously just Muffliato yourself just to avoid talking to me?” he asked, rather pointlessly. If this really was the case, Malfoy wouldn’t be able to hear a thing Harry said all night, spoiling Harry’s plans to get some answers.   
Malfoy ignored Harry completely (which was probably a lot easier now that he couldn’t hear him) and ventured to the far end of the classroom to work. Harry reluctantly took a seat where he was, not seeing the point in getting any closer to Malfoy if there wasn’t any possibility of speaking to him.   
An hour passed in complete silence, leaving Harry feeling frustrated and bored. If anything, detentions with Malfoy were never supposed to be boring.   
Another hour passed, and now Harry’s foot was bouncing restlessly against the floor. He was sure that if Malfoy could hear, he would’ve found the sound infuriating, but of course, he couldn’t hear, so the sound only annoyed Harry.   
When Harry couldn’t take the silence anymore, he pulled a piece of spare parchment out of his bag and wrote a brief note.   
Malfoy,   
I just want to talk. Please.   
He folded the note into a paper airplane and sent it flying across the room. The plane whisked through the air and landed on Malfoy’s desk amongst Slughorn’s records. The Slytherin boy took the plane, unfolded it, read the note, and then crumpled the parchment and tossed it aside, glaring at Harry.   
“Alright, fine. New tactic,” Harry thought aloud. He figured he might as well if Malfoy can’t hear him. He snatched another paper from his bag and scribbled another note.   
Malfoy,  
Okay, I get you don’t want to talk about that. But we do have to, at some point.   
Anyways, did you know that Zabini was so good at Defense Against the Dark Arts? He nearly killed me about seven times in class today. I always thought he was nothing more than a pretty face, but I guess I was wrong.   
How is dueling Ron? I’ve never asked but I’ve always been curious as to how that was going. Of course, I’ve heard Ron’s side of the story, it’s one of his favorite topics to complain about, but I have a feeling he’s just slightly biased.   
Harry folded this paper like the last one and threw it towards Malfoy. It hit him in the side of the head, and the blonde gave Harry a look that could kill.  
Sorry, Harry mouthed, though he wasn’t particularly sorry at all. He felt that Malfoy rather deserved to be hit in the side of the head with a paper airplane since he was being such a git this evening.   
Malfoy grabbed the paper and seemed to consider throwing it away without reading it. Eventually though, he did unfurl the paper and scan his eyes over Harry’s sprawl. He considered for a moment before pulling out his quill and jotting something down on the paper. For a few moments, Malfoy tried to refold the paper into the same airplane that Harry had done, but he didn’t know how. Finally he gave up and simply balled the paper in his fist and tossed it across the room.   
It landed on Harry’s desk, but Malfoy was no longer looking in his direction. Harry carefully uncrumpled the parchment and his eyes found a small note written beneath Harry’s writing.   
Malfoy completely neglected the first part of Harry’s message, but he responded to Harry’s questions.   
Potter,   
Of course I’m aware of Blaise’s talent. The only reason you weren’t is because you’re an arrogant idiot who assumes he’s better than everyone else. Newsflash Potter, just because you’re the Chosen One doesn’t automatically make you some Defense Against the Dark Arts protege.   
I am surprised he became so intense in class today. I was watching you two, and usually he’s much more subdued. I wonder what you did to piss him off.   
Weasley’s not as bad as I suspected. His skills are adequate at best, but he’s not completely hopeless. If I was actually trying, I’d best him in every duel, but, as you already know, I’m not really trying.   
The writing stopped there, and Harry peered up at Malfoy. He quickly wrote down a second note and sent it towards Malfoy.   
Malfoy,   
If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you almost complimented Ron. I think you might like him if you actually got to know him. You both love Quidditch, and he’d make up for your lack of colorful vocabulary.   
You were watching me in class today? How very sweet of you.   
You’re right. I guess I did piss off Zabini in a way. I was asking about you. He told me you didn’t want to talk to me, and I asked him what he knew. Does he know about Saturday night? It seemed like he did, but I can never be sure with him.   
Why did you do it? That’s the thing that I just can’t understand. I asked Zabini, but he told me that it wasn’t his place to tell me. I can’t get it out of my head and I need to understand. Please, just tell me.  
Malfoy read the note, and when he blushed, Harry knew he’d gotten to the part about Malfoy watching him. As he read further though, his face paled. His eyes flitted over the remainder of the note and he turned to look at Harry. They locked eyes and then Malfoy began to very slowly and deliberately, rip the parchment into tiny pieces and throw it onto the floor.   
Harry winced at each tear of the paper, and once Malfoy was finished, the last scrap of parchment fluttering through the air, he returned to his work, completely turning his back on Harry. He resolved that in order to get answers, he’d just have to try harder.   
Once Harry returned to the dormitory, he found he couldn’t get to sleep. He rolled over in bed and pulled Sirius’ diary out from under the bed. It had only been a few days since he had last read it, but to Harry, it felt like much longer. He flipped to the next entry and dived in.  
November 8th, 1976  
Dear diary (Yes, I’m finally admitting that this is a diary. I’ve certainly put enough mushy feeling stuff in here for it to qualify, and I’m man enough to admit that I, Sirius Black, do in fact have a diary. And it is the best diary that mankind will ever have the pleasure of NOT reading),  
Yesterday was certainly something. A good something. A VERY good something.   
Prongs and Wormtail don’t know, though. I was convinced they would figure it out (I’ll admit that I’m rarely discreet and never good at doing so), but it turns out that Jamesy is far too obsessed with Evans (never thought I’d be grateful for his infatuation with her, but here I am), and Petey is too obsessed with James to notice anything.   
It’s only been a day, but it feels like it’s been longer. I mean, I have fancied Remus for years, so I suppose it only makes sense that it seems like we’ve been together longer than we actually have. On the other hand though, I wish we’d known sooner! Maybe then Moony wouldn’t have run off and shagged strangers in dusty old libraries over the summer…   
The world spun and shifted until Harry found himself seated across from Remus and Sirius in the library. The taller of the two boys was bent over a large volume, his eyes darting to his notes every now and again to jot something down. Sirius, however, was not nearly as focused. There was an old Charms textbook in front of him, but it looked completely untouched. Instead of studying, Sirius had opted to doodle on the back of Remus’ hand.   
Harry peered over his godfather’s shoulder and saw that he had already scribbled out a crude drawing of a stag, a rat, and a wolf, and was now working on a small sketch of a dog near his thumb.   
“Sirius,” Remus said suddenly, looking up from his book. Sirius stopped his doodling and lifted Remus’ hand up to his face, placing a gentle kiss on his knuckles before responding.   
“Yes, love?”   
“Love?” Remus’ face lit up as he withdrew his hand from Sirius’ grasp. “That’s new.”  
“Do you like it?” Sirius asked, grinning.   
“I love it,” Remus replied. They fell silent for a moment while Sirius traced on the back of Remus’ hand. “Hey, we need to talk.”  
“About what?” Sirius peered up, his face still relaxed, but his eyes flashing with worry.   
“About this. About us,” Remus clarified, lowering his voice.  
“What about it?” Sirius looked back down, almost like he was deliberately avoiding Remus’ gaze. It was a few seconds before the taller boy spoke.  
“I don’t think we should tell anyone,” Remus uttered quietly.   
“What?” The black haired boy pulled back slightly, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Remus looked at him helplessly and brought his voice down to a whisper.   
“It’s not safe. You know how people can be,” he warned, face pleading.   
“I don’t care,” Sirius said carelessly, not bothering to speak quietly as he leaned back in his chair and threw his legs up on the table. Remus quickly shoved his legs back down, indicating towards the passing librarian with his chin. Once she’d gone, Remus leaned in close and spoke in hushed tones.   
“You should,” he urged. “You know that Regulus is keeping tags on you. You might not live with them anymore, but if your parents find out you’re dating some half-blood, werewolf, boy…” Remus trailed off, closing his eyes as if he were imagining the punishment Sirius would suffer. “I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”  
“You shouldn’t have to keep yet another huge secret just to protect me,” Sirius insisted, shaking his head. Harry frowned: it wasn’t fair that Remus was forced to hide so much from the world just to be accepted.  
“No, I shouldn’t have to,” Remus agreed, but his face remained serious. “But this is the reality we live in, Sirius. We might not like it, but that doesn’t mean we can just ignore the rest of the world.” Sirius didn’t say anything, but he sighed and nodded, reluctantly conceding to Remus’ point.   
“What about James and Peter?” he asked a few minutes later, once Remus had settled back into studying and Sirius was back to doodling.   
“I don’t think we should tell them either,” Remus admitted.  
“Remus!” Sirius exclaimed, snatching Remus’ book from him and closing it. “They’re our best friends, James is practically my brother-”  
“We’ll tell them eventually,” Remus cut in, reassuring Sirius. “Just… not right away.” Sirius tilted his head and waited for Remus to explain. “Look, Sirius, like you said, they’re our best friends. It’s always been the four of us, the four Marauders. And now, you and I are something more, and that changes things. And that change isn’t a bad thing, but it does complicate things slightly. So I don’t think we should tell them until we’re sure about us.”  
Again, Sirius didn’t answer, but he took Remus’ hand and intertwined their fingers together.   
The memory quickly faded, and Harry shoved the book back under his bed. He curled under the covers and closed his eyes, waiting for sleep to take over.


	25. Nothing to Talk About

Chapter Twenty-Five

The next few days passed rather uneventfully. Harry’s mornings consisted of watching Malfoy during breakfast, attending classes, and then watching Malfoy again during lunch. His afternoons were filled with more classes, Quidditch practices, and then dinner, where he once again kept his eyes on the Slytherin table. His evenings passed in utter silence, no more paper airplanes exchanged. Ever since Monday night, Malfoy cast Muffliato on himself as soon as Slughorn left the room. Harry tried to communicate through notes a few more times, but even when he didn’t try to get Malfoy to talk about the kiss, he didn’t respond.   
Harry hadn’t realized how Malfoy had become an integral part of his life over the last few months. Before now, they had barely gone a day without speaking; granted, much of their conversations consisted of insults and taunts, but Harry still found himself oddly missing their talks. He certainly wouldn’t venture to call them friends, but he knew that they couldn’t possibly be considered enemies anymore either. At the sight or mention of the blonde Slytherin boy, Harry’s insides turned warm and jittery. He’d decided that he liked the feeling, even if he wasn’t sure what it meant.   
On Thursday afternoon, however, the two boys found themselves seated next to each other in Potions. Slughorn had decided to lecture the class that day, so instead of the traditional potions stations scattered about the room, there were rows of chairs and long tables lined up facing the blackboard.   
When Malfoy arrived at class ten minutes into the lesson, he was forced into the only available seat: next to Harry. There was a moment when Harry thought Malfoy might just turn and walk right back out of class rather than sit next to him, but clearly, Potions was too important to miss.   
Slughorn had started talking about the qualities of Amortentia when Harry leaned over to Malfoy.   
“Can we talk about...?” he trailed off, whispering, though Slughorn was too enthralled by the sound of his own voice to notice any talking, and the rest of the class seemed to be napping. This was the first time in days that he’d gotten a chance to actually speak to Malfoy, and he found that his heart was racing and his hands were sweating, almost like he was nervous.   
“No,” Malfoy replied sternly. He kept his attention on Slughorn, but his skin paled at the sound of Harry’s question.   
“Let me rephrase that,” Harry cleared his throat. “We need to talk.”  
“No,” Malfoy snapped, glancing at Harry. “We don’t. We have nothing to talk about.”  
“Well, yeah, actually. We do. We need to talk about the fact that you-”  
“Nothing!” Malfoy hissed, careful to keep his voice low. It was clear from his tone that he would not talk to Harry even if McGonagall herself tried to force him to.   
“Fine,” Harry grumbled, trying to think of any other way to coerce Malfoy into talking.   
Minutes passed and the only sounds were the drone of Slughorn’s voice, the occasional snores coming from Ernie, and the scratch of Malfoy’s quill against parchment.   
Slowly, Harry slid his hand across the table. He made sure to keep his gaze at the front of the class, so Malfoy wouldn’t notice his hand’s movement. His eyes flitted towards this hand, which was now only an inch or two away from Malfoy’s. The blonde boy seemingly hadn’t noticed; his attention was still focused on Slughorn.   
Harry tilted his hand ever so slightly to the right and felt his pinky brush up against Malfoy’s. The touch did not go unnoticed by the Slytherin boy, whose eyes immediately landed on the two boys’ hands. However, Harry pretended like he hadn’t noticed the contact, and Malfoy didn’t brush him away. Harry lifted his pinky and placed it over Malfoy’s. At this, Malfoy looked alarmed and hastily yanked his hand away from Harry, placing it instead on his lap.   
This didn’t deter Harry. Harry’s hand soon followed Malfoy’s, landing on his thigh. The Slytherin gulped. Deciding to act boldly, Harry placed his hand on top of Malfoy’s hand, which was balled into a fist. The blonde boy froze, the scratch of his quill now silenced.   
If Malfoy pulled away again, Harry resolved that he’d stop bothering him for the time being. He didn’t want Malfoy to ignore him, but he didn’t want the blonde to hate him either.   
Just as Harry was about to give up and pull his hand away, Malfoy hesitantly unfurled his fingers and turned the palm of his hand up to meet Harry’s. The pads of Harry’s fingers brushed against Malfoy’s and Harry smiled slightly at the familiar pink blush that crept onto Malfoy’s cheeks.   
Harry intertwined his fingers with Malfoy’s, and the blonde boy’s hand curled around his. Malfoy seemed to be fighting a smile at the touch and he cautiously began to circle the back of Harry’s hand with his thumb.   
It was exhilarating. Touches from Ginny were comfort; they were home; they were warm and inviting and safe. With Cho, they were nerve-wracking; they made Harry feel silly and immature and made his extremities feel clammy. But holding hands with Malfoy… it was electric. Harry’s heart pounded in his ears and he was astonished how the blonde boy could somehow send every nerve in Harry’s body buzzing just with the feel of his fingers against Harry’s.   
The moment ended far too soon.   
“I want eight inches detailing the steps to brew Amortentia, due next class. You are all dismissed,” Slughorn announced. Malfoy quickly retracted his hand and snatched his book from the table, making a beeline for the door.   
Harry followed after him, not ready to let Malfoy get away just yet. He trailed the Slytherin down the corridor until all the other students from the class seemed to disperse, and then he raced in front of Malfoy, grabbed his collar, and pulled him into a nearby deserted hallway.   
“What the hell, Potter?” Malfoy hissed, his voice barely above a whisper. His eyes flitted around the hallway, searching for any other students.   
“We’re alone,” Harry reassured. “We need to talk.”  
“I already told you, we have nothing to talk about.” The blonde shoved Harry away and tried to pass him, but the Gryffindor grasped Malfoy’s arm as gently as possible while still keeping him from going any further.   
“Take. Your. Hands. Off. Me.” Malfoy snarled, his tone enough to make Dumbledore flinch. Harry dropped his hand and sighed.   
“We do actually have something to talk about.” Malfoy ignored Harry and continued walking away. “Like the fact that you kissed me.”  
This made the blonde boy stop in his tracks. When he finally turned around to face Harry, his expression was one of carefully crafted nonchalance. His ears, however, gave him away; they were flushed pink. Harry almost grinned at his discovery that Malfoy’s ears were a clear giveaway of his moods.   
“What I want to know, Malfoy,” Harry took a few steps forward, until his face was only a few inches from Malfoy’s. “Is why?”  
“Isn’t it obvious?” Malfoy kept his voice even, but he swallowed nervously. “I was messing with you. Just like you were messing with me.” Harry let his eyes drop to Malfoy’s sides, where his fists were curled into tight balls. The Slytherin’s attempt to feign a composed coolness was thwarted by his rigid body language.   
“I don’t buy that.” Harry risked inching ever closer. Malfoy leaned backwards. “I think you’re lying.”  
“Fortunately, it doesn’t really matter what you think, Potter,” the blonde sneered, but it lacked its usual poison. “It’s the truth.”  
With that, Malfoy whipped around and practically sprinted away from Harry. The Gryffindor smirked. As if he’d let Malfoy get away that easily.   
He turned out of the hallway, already planning his next encounter when he ran into Luna.   
“Luna! Hello, sorry, didn’t see you-” he stopped when he saw her face. Her dreamlike expression was gone, replaced by a look that Harry could only describe as a mixture between disappointment and anger. “What’s wrong?”  
“You,” she said sadly, her face softening just slightly at Harry’s concern.   
“What’d you mean?” Harry asked cautiously. He’d only seen Luna raise her voice once, and he’d never seen her angry before.   
“I told you not to mess with him,” she said softly, her big eyes staring up into Harry’s. “It’s not kind.”  
“Malfoy?” Harry clarified. Luna nodded. “I’m not- I mean, I was- but then…” He glanced at her, wondering if she knew as well. “Has he said anything to you?”  
“Nothing I can tell you,” Luna shook her head. They began to walk side by side. Harry sighed heavily and Luna looked up at him expectantly.   
“I don’t understand,” Harry explained. “I need answers, and I keep trying to talk to him, but he won’t talk to me, and neither will anyone else. And I’m not the one who-” Harry stopped himself. Even if he suspected that Luna knew about the kiss, he wasn’t about to risk telling her if there was even a chance she was unaware.   
“Perhaps,” she nodded, catching Harry’s drift. “But you started this. With your teasing and… everything else.”   
“But I was just messing with him,” Harry said defensively. Adrenaline had started to rush through his veins, and he wasn’t even sure why.   
“Were you?” Luna asked innocently.   
“I-” Harry started to stammer. All the suggestive comments, all the winking, all the flirting: it all started as a joke, as just another way to mess with Malfoy, to embarrass him. But now, Harry knew he couldn’t honestly say that it was all still just some big running gag. It had been more than that for a while now, even before Malfoy kissed him. “Not now. I was, but…”  
“But then things changed?” Luna suggested, lifting her eyebrows. “Harry,” she began, gently. “What do you want?”  
There was that question again. The question Malfoy had asked him all those days ago. He hadn’t known the answer then, but now…   
Harry felt the answer in his heart, knew the words were on the tip of his tongue. He was about to say it when a voice in the back of his head screamed for him to stop.   
It’s wrong. It’s not normal. It’s disgusting, the words echoed inside his head. Oddly, the voices sounded a lot like his Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia. Harry quickly shoved his thoughts aside, leaving him feeling empty and more unsure than ever.   
“I don’t know,” he said. It was partially a lie, and partially the truth. In the back of his mind, he knew what he wanted; he just wasn’t sure whether he wanted to want it.


	26. The Moment You've Been Waiting For

Chapter Twenty-Six

Harry was sitting in Slughorn’s room about an hour before Friday’s detention was supposed to start. He was anxiously awaiting Malfoy, desperately wanting to talk to him. According to Slughorn, today was the last day that Malfoy had been assigned detention for being out of bed past curfew, meaning this was Harry’s last chance to speak to Malfoy alone.   
To calm his nerves, he reached inside his bag and retrieved Sirius’ diary.   
He found the next entry and began to read.   
December 5th, 1976  
Dear Book of Personal Anecdotes (I previously stated I was comfortable calling this a diary; I have now changed my mind),  
Sorry it’s been so long. Usually I write when I have time alone, but now it seems as if all my alone time is being spent with someone else (not that I’m complaining). I showed Moony a few of my entries, and he was actually impressed. Said something about how memory magic is incredibly difficult or something.   
It’s been, quite frankly, amazing. I never thought I was the relationship type; I never thought I’d ever want to settle down with someone, and that if I ever did, it would only be because of my family’s wishes. Of course, I’m only seventeen, I shouldn’t even be thinking about settling down with anyone yet.  
I just can’t help it. Merlin knows it’s sappy, and I’d never admit it, but I think I’m falling in love. God, I’m just as bad as Prongs and his infatuation with Evans…   
Once the world stopped spinning, Harry opened his eyes to find himself submerged in inky blackness. His eyes quickly adjusted to reveal that he was standing in the center of the Astronomy Tower, and two shadowy figures were sitting on the edge, dangling their feet down. One of the figures coughed, and Harry watched smoke trail up from where he was sitting.   
“How do you smoke this stuff?” Sirius sputtered, still coughing and waving the smoke away from his face.   
“Practice.” Remus took the joint out of Sirius’ hands, his fingers lingering just a second too long. He took a drag and puffed out a perfect ring of smoke.   
“I think this is the hottest thing I’ve ever seen,” Sirius mused, grinning widely.   
“What is?” Remus asked, cocking his head. Harry was starting to make out their facial features despite the dark. The moon hung overhead like a lantern in the sky, illuminating the grounds below.   
“You, sitting there, in your sweater, smoking a joint like some… I dunno, some punk rock nerd or something.”   
“Punk rock nerd?” Remus lifted an eyebrow and nodded approvingly. “I quite like that.”  
“I like it too,” Sirius’ hands inched their way to Remus’ knee. “I like a lot of things about you,” he commented absentmindedly.   
“I like a lot of things about you too,” Remus hummed, leaning into Sirius’ touch. Harry watched as they moved closer together, close enough to seem as though they were joined at the hip.   
“Like what?” Sirius smirked and poked Remus’ nose.   
“Like…” Remus paused, thinking and fiddling with the joint. Sirius snatched it and took a long drag, coughing violently afterwards. “You okay?” Remus leaned his head down and stroked Sirius’ hair. Sirius nodded, covering his coughing, and gestured for Remus to continue. “Like how you do things like that.”  
“Like what?”  
“Stupid things.” Sirius barked out in laughter and Remus ignored him. “Things no one else would do. You do stuff just for the hell of it; it’s terrifying and insane to me, but in a weird way, I like it.”   
“Well, I like that you don’t do stupid things,” Sirius said, once he’d stopped laughing. “There has to be at least one sensible Marauder in the group.” This made Remus chuckle. “I like your sweaters,” he mentioned.   
“But you always complain about them?” Remus smiled down at Sirius, confused.   
“I don’t complain about them,” Sirius corrected. “I simply comment on them because they are a signature part of your existence.”  
“But you like them?”  
“I like them.” Sirius nodded. “They’re all soft and cuddly and cozy. Just like you.”   
“Werewolf,” Remus sang, smirking.   
“You can be soft and cuddly and cozy and still be a ferocious werewolf. The two are not mutually exclusive,” Sirius said, gesturing a lazy finger in Remus’ direction.   
Clearly, Sirius was starting to get a bit high, so when he reached for the joint, Remus held it out of his reach.   
“No fair!” he protested, climbing all over Remus. “You’re using your superior height against me!”  
“You’ve had quite enough of this,” Remus flicked the joint over the edge of the tower and let it fall to the ground, disappearing amongst the brush. “As have I.”  
“Fine,” Sirius grumbled and crossed his arms over his chest in a way that reminded Harry of a small child.   
“I like your leather jacket,” Remus said, towards no one in particular.   
“Are you saying you like me in leather, Moony?” Sirius wiggled his eyebrows suggestively and Remus burst out laughing.   
“I suppose we’d have to see,” he shot back, and now both boys were laughing. They rolled around on the floor of the Astronomy Tower, and a few times, Harry was worried they might fall off the edge, but they never did.   
Eventually, their laughing fit evolved into a wrestling match of sorts, and Sirius ended up sitting on top of Remus, straddling him with his legs.   
“Gotcha.” He smiled wickedly down at Remus.   
“That you do,” Remus breathed as Sirius’ face came closer. They shared a gentle, brief kiss, and Sirius rolled off Remus so they were both lying on the cold, stone floor.   
“You know,” Sirius began, and Remus turned his body partially towards the shorter boy. “I think I’ve realized why I didn’t like having sex with those girls.” He spoke casually, as if discussing the weather.   
“Oh?” Remus said, intrigued.   
“I’m fairly certain I’m gay.” Remus sat up, and watched Sirius carefully for a moment. Sirius stared up at him, waiting for a response.   
“You sure?” was all Remus asked, and his question was met by Sirius sitting up for a moment and planting a quick kiss to his lips.   
“I’m sure.” Remus laid back down and they stared up at the stars.   
“So, when did you figure that out?” The taller boy asked, his hand finding Sirius’. Sirius thought for a moment before answering.   
“Not until just now,” he said, which earned a snort from Remus. “Although, it’s been on my mind for a while now. I guess… fourth year? That was when I started noticing that I was paying more attention to the boys in our class than the girls.”  
“And what about me?”  
“What about you?” Sirius asked curiously, tilting his head in Remus’ direction.   
“When did you figure out that you fancied me?” The raven-haired boy let his head fall back flat against the floor and watched the stars for a few seconds before he spoke.   
“End of fifth year.” He glanced towards Remus nervously. “After…”  
“After The Prank,” Remus finished his sentence, solemnly. Sirius nodded sheepishly and continued on.   
“I realized I couldn’t bear to live without you. But… it was even more than that. I imagined what I would’ve done if it had been James or Pete, and it just wasn’t the same. I mean,” Sirius propped himself up on his elbow so he was leaning over Remus just slightly. “I ached to see you, to touch you. That was when I knew that you were never just a friend to me,” Sirius finished, smiling down at Remus. “What about you?”  
“Well, I figured out I was into boys and girls pretty early on. Maybe… end of second year? It’s hard to remember.” Remus shrugged. “I had a bit of a crush on Gideon Prewett.”   
“Gideon? Really? I wouldn’t think you’d like him. He was quite the trouble-maker back then.”  
“Seems I have a type then,” Remus said, reaching up to stroke the side of Sirius’ face. “And I figured out about you at the end of fifth year too. Before the… well, you know.”  
“Is that why…” Sirius started softly. “You were so…”  
“Is that why I was so angry? Yeah.” Remus nodded and ran his fingers through Sirius’ hair. “I’d just realized that I had feelings for you, and then you went and betrayed me.”  
“I didn’t do it-”   
“I know,” Remus cut in, his voice reassuring. “I know you didn’t mean to tell him anything. It was just a mistake, and you’ve made up for it a thousand times over.” The way he spoke, Harry could tell this was a conversation they’d had before. It was obvious that Remus had completely forgiven Sirius, but Sirius hadn’t fully forgiven himself. “But you have to understand,” Remus began speaking again. “When I woke up that next morning, I didn’t really know what had happened. I assumed the worst, and I thought… well, it just hurt that I thought the person I cared for the most in this world would hurt me like that.”   
“I would never hurt you like that. Not intentionally.”   
“I know. I trust you.” Remus smiled and linked their fingers together. Sirius took his hand but frowned slightly. “What?”  
“So if you figured out that you fancied me at the end of last year, why did you go and shag all those people over summer?” Sirius tilted his head in a way that was rather reminiscent of a dog.   
“Well, never in a million years would I have thought that you fancied me back,” Remus explained, smiling. “I was trying to get over you, and those people were there, and they didn’t want anything serious-”  
“Ha. Sirius.” The black-haired boy laughed and Remus shot him a glare.   
“So I figured why not? I didn’t really have any reason not to.”  
“How about the fact that I did, in fact, fancy you back?” Sirius suggested, eyes twinkling in the moonlight.   
“If I had known, then I might have considered that.” Remus chuckled. They fell silent for a moment before Remus sighed. “I wish we’d figured it all out sooner.”  
“If I’d just been a little braver, then I would’ve told you.” Sirius groaned. “I’m supposed to be a bloody Gryffindor!”  
“Hey, I’m a Gryffindor too, and I couldn’t work up the courage either,” Remus added, his fingers trailing Sirius’ jaw.   
“Some Gryffindors we are.” Sirius laughed and Remus rolled his eyes.   
Slowly, the memory of the moonlit boys faded out of focus, and Harry was sitting in the Potions classroom, Malfoy still missing. He smiled at the image of Remus and Sirius on the Astronomy Tower as he shoved the diary back into his bag.   
Slughorn was still rummaging around in the Potions cupboard, searching for some rare ingredient that Harry couldn’t remember. At first, Slughorn had tried to recruit Harry into looking for the ingredient for him, but Harry refused; after last time, there was no way he’d willingly return to that closet if he could help it.   
Suddenly, the door swung open and Malfoy stepped into the classroom. He was still dressed in his school clothes, although he had abandoned his robes. Even with his shirt half untucked and his tie loose around his neck, he still managed to look effortlessly graceful.   
Slughorn finally emerged from the cupboard and spotted Malfoy standing in the doorway.   
“Come on in!” He waved the Slytherin boy inside, who eyed Harry warily as he passed by.   
“More grading today, gentlemen.” Slughorn passed each of them a heavy stack of essays to grade. Harry would’ve been irritated if he wasn’t so distracted by Malfoy’s presence. “I’ll be back in three hours, per usual. Have a lovely evening!”   
Slughorn strode out of the room, and Malfoy headed over to his side of the classroom. It was odd; when they first started out doing their detentions together, they each had their own side of the classroom that they stuck to. But then, they gradually grew used to sitting together, even when it wasn’t necessary for whatever job they were doing that day. And now, they were back at square one, avoiding each other at all costs. Well, Malfoy was avoiding Harry, at least.   
Harry waited until about two hours had passed before he finally spoke. He knew that in order for his plan to work, he’d have to catch Malfoy at least slightly off guard, and two hours of silence would certainly let Malfoy fall into a sense of false ease. He gripped his wand and opened his mouth.   
“Malfoy-” Harry began, but the Slytherin boy immediately raised his wand, ready to cast a silencing spell so he could continue to ignore Harry.   
“Mufflia-”  
“Expelliarmus!” Harry interjected, sending Malfoy’s wand flying. The blonde boy slowly lifted his gaze away from where his wand had landed and turned to glare at Harry.   
“Is that the only bloody spell you know, Potter?” His voice was even more vicious than usual, and there was a dangerous glint in his eye.   
“It works, doesn’t it?” Harry smirked and picked up his wand from where it had fallen by his feet. Harry swallowed and took a breath before speaking again in an effort to keep his voice level. “Malfoy, why’d you kiss me?” The Slytherin squeezed his eyes shut and the grip on his quill tightened.   
“I told you, I was messing with you.” His voice was strained as he spoke.   
“And I told you I didn’t believe you.” Malfoy winced and Harry was almost tempted to drop it, but he couldn’t just let this go.   
“Bugger off Potter,” the blonde boy spat, averting his eyes from Harry.   
“Not going to happen until you tell me the real reason.” Harry stood up and made his way across the room to Malfoy. He stood in front of Malfoy’s desk, arms stubbornly crossed as the blonde boy continued to stare down at the papers in front of him.   
“Bloody Gryffindors, never give up, do you?” he muttered more to himself than to Harry.   
“Never,” Harry said, grinning. He shifted his weight waiting for Malfoy to say something, anything. The silence stretched on for a few minutes before it was broken by the Slytherin’s soft voice.   
“Why do you do it?”  
“What?” Harry asked, confused. Malfoy looked up at him, eyes brimming with an emotion that he couldn’t quite discern.   
“All these mind games, all this playing with me, all this… flirting.” He closed his eyes and Harry ignored the deep scarlet blush creeping up his cheeks. “Why’d you do it?”  
“I… well, er-” Harry paused, trying to think of how to explain it. It started as a joke, but now, he knew that wasn’t all it was anymore. He started to explain. “You get all flustered and embarrassed and I thought that-”  
“It’d be funny to toy with me?” Harry flinched at the hurt in Malfoy’s voice, but he nodded reluctantly. “Well it’s not,” the Slytherin continued, narrowing his eyes at Harry. “It’s quite the opposite actually. It’s not funny to mess with people’s hearts just for a joke. Even I don’t deserve that,” he added softly, his voice barely above a whisper. In that moment, Harry couldn’t look at Malfoy, so he looked at his shoes instead. “I wasn’t messing with you when I…” Harry heard Malfoy swallow thickly. “But you were messing with me.”  
“You’re right. I’m… I’m sorry,” Harry addressed Malfoy, but he continued to keep his gaze locked on the floor. “So if that’s not it, then why did you kiss me?” He risked a glance up and spotted the blonde boy looking at him incredulously.  
“You really are thick, you know that?” Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes. It seemed it was impossible for Malfoy to go a single conversation without insulting Harry in some way or another. “Maybe you had your head so far up your arse you didn’t notice but I’ve been just a bit obsessed with you for the past few years.”  
“Well, yeah. But that’s because you hated me,” Harry stated dumbly. Malfoy scoffed and rolled his eyes.   
“My obsession with you had nothing to do with hatred.” Harry looked at the Slytherin expectantly, waiting for him to say more. Malfoy took a deep breath and relaxed his hands, which Harry just noticed had been balled into tight fists. “Do you want to know why I kissed you? It’s because I fancy you Potter, I bloody fancy you!”   
Harry stood completely still and blinked for a few moments, not quite comprehending what he was hearing. Malfoy… fancies… me? Once the words finally sunk in, realization hit Harry like a truck, and he almost stumbled backwards in shock.   
“Go on and tell the other Gryffindors, I’m sure they’d love more fuel for their hatred towards me.” Malfoy’s eyes burned into the back of Harry’s head. His hands curled against his sides once again as he spat his next words. “Go on, I don’t care anymore.”  
With his teeth bared and his expression seething like that, Malfoy looked rather like a wounded cat, ready to pounce at any moment. Outwardly, he was enraged and menacing, but behind his stormy grey eyes was an unmistakable fear.   
Harry slowly made his way around the desk so he was standing beside Malfoy. The blonde boy didn’t move as Harry got closer, but his threatening expression never wavered. Cautiously, Harry reached out a hand towards Malfoy’s shoulder, but the seated boy flinched away from the touch.   
“Don’t.” Malfoy avoided looking at Harry and kept his eyes glued to the desk. “Just don’t.”  
“Why not?” Harry sighed resignedly and pulled up a chair beside Malfoy. He sat down next to him, but Malfoy scooted away, keeping a safe distance between the two boys.   
“Because you don’t mean it. And…” Malfoy paused. “And I can’t take it. I can’t take the humiliation anymore.” Neither boy spoke for a few minutes. Harry let his mind wander.   
Why did he make such an effort to mess with Malfoy? Sure, it was funny at first, but there was something more. Despite the fact that Harry always thought Malfoy was an insufferable prick, there was something intriguing about him. When he didn’t make an effort not to, he’d catch himself staring at his rival, feeling drawn to him in some sick sense. This feeling, this obsession, didn’t feel all that different from when he found himself infatuated with Ginny in sixth year, Harry realized. He’d always assumed the passion he felt with Malfoy came from a mutual hatred, but really, Harry knew that he didn’t hate the Slytherin boy. If he was being honest, he didn’t think he ever had.   
The revelation shocked him, but at the same time, he wasn’t all that surprised; he’d known the truth for a while now, he just wasn’t willing to admit it until this moment. The voices of his aunt and uncle still echoed inside his head, expressing their revulsion, and Harry tried his best to push them out of his mind.   
“But what if I did mean it?” Harry broke the silence and looked up at Malfoy, who regarded Harry with a renounced expression.  
“You don’t.”  
“What if I do?” Harry insisted.  
“Then you shouldn’t,” he mumbled, glancing down.   
“Why?” Harry continued to pry. If this was what Malfoy wanted, why was he pushing Harry away?  
“Why?” Malfoy laughed. “Why? I’ll tell you why!” His face twisted into an ugly sneer. “Because you’re Harry The Chosen One Potter, Savior of the entire bloody wizarding world, Hero of Hogwarts! And I’m…” Malfoy blinked back tears and took a shaky breath. “I’m an ex-Death Eater, heir to the Malfoy name, Hogwarts’ most hated.”  
“You didn’t have a choice.” Harry risked scooting closer. Malfoy stayed put. “You didn’t have a choice,” he repeated, softer this time.   
“You said it yourself, I did. I did have a choice.” Harry winced as his words were thrown back at him. He knew now that he was wrong when he said that.   
“An impossible choice,” Harry corrected. Tentatively, he wrapped his hands around Malfoy’s balled fists. “Look, Malfoy, I don’t know what I would’ve done if I were you, I honestly can’t say. But I understand why you did what you did. I forgive you,” At this, Malfoy perked up and stared at Harry, his eyebrows furrowed. “And I think it’s about time you forgive yourself.” Now that Malfoy was looking at him, Harry could see that there were only a few inches between their faces. Even up this close, his pale-white skin was flawless. “Would you… would you kiss me again?”  
“Why?” Malfoy asked softly, his voice cracking. Harry flinched at the flash of pain behind his eyes. Did he really still think that Harry was just messing with him?  
“Because I want you to.” Harry reached up and brushed a strand of white-blond hair behind Malfoy’s ear. It was even softer than he expected, and he placed his hand at the back of Malfoy’s head, intertwined his fingers with the silky locks. He carefully brought his other hand up to rest on the taller boy’s cheek, which he stroked gently with the tip of his thumb. Up this close, he could actually see Malfoy’s Adam’s apple bob when he swallowed. His eyes flitted down to Harry’s lips as if asking permission. “Please,” Harry breathed.  
He closed his eyes, and it felt like an eternity before he felt something undeniably warm and soft brush against his lips. It was a struggle to stay still; every inch of Harry’s body was screaming for him to lean in, to close the gap, to tangle his hands in Malfoy’s hair and pull him taut against his body and never let go, but he couldn’t do that. This had to be the Slytherin’s decision.   
A hesitant hand rested where Harry’s back met his neck, and when he felt eyelashes flutter against his cheek it took every bit of will power in his body not to lean in.   
“Please,” he repeated, practically begging.   
That seemed to be all it took, for the next moment, Malfoy’s lips were pressed against his own. The last time they kissed, it was desperate, hungry, dangerous. This was vastly different. Malfoy moved so slowly, so timidly, Harry thought he might explode from anticipation, but he didn’t dare make any move to intensify the kiss. It was so delicate, so fragile, Harry couldn’t even breathe in fear of ruining the moment.   
As they kissed, Malfoy’s fingers moved slowly, tantilizingly, along Harry’s spine, driving him crazy. There was that electricity again, coursing through his veins and burning every inch of skin that Malfoy was touching. He bit back a groan and tried to focus instead on the steady puffs of air leaving Malfoy’s nose. Suddenly, the blonde pulled back and Harry stared at him blankly, at a complete loss of words.   
“Well?” Malfoy raised an eyebrow, and Harry struggled to pull his gaze away from Malfoy’s lips, which were unmistakably pinker than they’d been before.   
“Well what?” Harry asked, sounding more breathless than he’d intended.   
“Are you going to kiss me, or are you going to make me do all the work?” Harry swore his heart skipped a beat when Malfoy’s face lit up with his familiar smirk. How did he ever think that he hated this boy? “Scared Potter?” Malfoy asked teasingly when Harry didn’t respond, his lips moving tauntingly along Harry’s as he spoke. Harry gazed deep into Malfoy’s grey eyes, which were now dark with want, reminding Harry of a swirling storm cloud. Harry moved his left hand from Malfoy’s face to the collar of his shirt.   
“You wish.”   
Without missing a beat, his fist balled around the fabric and pulled Malfoy towards him, ramming their lips together. He felt Malfoy relax against him, sighing into his mouth. All of the shy hesitation was forgotten as Harry plunged his tongue into Malfoy’s mouth. He finally did what he’d been wanting to do all evening and ran his hand through Malfoy’s hair, gripping and tugging ever so slightly. He smiled against Malfoy’s lips when the Slytherin gasped.   
“Two can play at that game,” he whispered as his hands snaked into Harry’s hair, wrapped around the strands, and pulled. Harry couldn’t help the moan that escaped his lips, and he quickly pulled his hands away from Malfoy and covered his mouth.   
“I didn’t mean to-” Harry started to explain, but fell silent when Malfoy pressed a soft kiss against his jawline.   
“Merlin, do you ever shut up?” he growled against Harry’s skin. Harry bit back a whimper and wrapped his arms around Malfoy’s waist, gripping at his sides. He took a sharp intake of breath when he felt Malfoy’s tongue swipe out against his neck and the blonde grinned evilly. When he pulled away, Harry looked at him concernedly.   
“What is it?” Malfoy continued to smirk and raised his eyebrows at Harry.   
“Nothing.” He stood and Harry was confused, thinking that something was wrong. Malfoy leaned over him and whispered in his ear. “Just thought I’d get a little more…” He slid into Harry’s lap, straddling Harry. “Comfortable.” The feeling of Malfoy’s breath against his ear made Harry shiver.   
Harry looped his arms around Malfoy’s waist again and pulled him tight against his own chest; he swore he could feel Malfoy’s heart beating. As they kissed, he caught Malfoy’s lower lip between his teeth and grazed at the soft flesh. Malfoy whined appreciatively, but he pulled away, embarrassed, at the sound. Before he could go to cover his mouth, Harry gripped his wrists and grinned.   
“So you can dish it out but you can’t take it?” Harry challenged. Malfoy shook his head slightly and snorted, leaning back in to kiss Harry. When Harry released his wrists, Malfoy reached up and tangled his hands in Harry’s mane, tousling his curls and making his hair even more of a mess than usual. Harry let his hands wander, exploring the expanse of Malfoy’s chest.   
He always knew Malfoy was fit, he was a Seeker after all, but feeling his muscles moving underneath his thin button down was another thing entirely. His lips trailed down Malfoy’s chin, jaw, neck, leaving sloppy kisses all the while. When he finally returned back to Malfoy’s lips, their kiss softened. It became slower, gentler, but also somehow more passionate.   
Harry wished he could freeze time and be stuck in this moment forever, where it felt like there was nothing separating them, where he wasn’t sure where he ended and Malfoy began. For once, everything in his life felt so uncomplicated. He wasn’t thinking about Hermione and Ron, or Ginny, or his N.E.W.Ts, or Teddy, or Quidditch, or any of the tragedy in his life. In that instant, all there was, all that mattered was this: the feeling of Malfoy’s lips pressed against his own, the teasing fingers intertwined in his hair, the churning electricity buzzing through his body.   
Malfoy drew back slightly, out of breath and leaning his forehead against Harry’s. Harry was panting as well. He’d never kissed anyone like that. Not even Ginny. Sure they’d had their rendezvous, but nothing they’d done ever felt like that.   
Harry frowned as Malfoy slid out of Harry’s lap and returned to his seat. Neither spoke for a few minutes and the silence stretched between them for what felt like eons. When Harry finally opened his mouth to speak, Slughorn waltzed into the room, taking both boys by surprise.


	27. First Name Basis

Chapter Twenty-Seven

The next day, Harry woke up and he was convinced that he was still dreaming. The memory of Malfoy in his lap, his fingers tangled in his hair, the press of his lips against his own: it seemed too perfect to be his reality.   
Unfortunately, his wandering mind was abruptly brought back to the present during breakfast in the Great Hall.   
“What is going on with you?” Ron finally snapped, waving a hand in front of Harry’s face. Harry shook his head slightly in an attempt to banish his daydream and glanced over at Ron.   
“What?” He hadn’t fully caught what Ron said.   
“You’re all…” Ron gestured vaguely around Harry.   
“You’ve been a bit distracted,” Hermione said, clarifying Ron’s unclear movements.   
“Oh, I-” Harry began, but he was interrupted by Ginny, who was sitting across the table next to Hermione.   
“And you keep looking over at the Slytherin table.” She glanced over her shoulder, scanning the Slytherin table for anything out of the ordinary. While his friends’ eyes were fixed on the other side of the room, Harry locked eyes with Malfoy and gave him a small smile. The pale boy smirked and the tips of his ears turned pink.   
After they had been so rudely interrupted by Slughorn, the two boys hadn’t gotten a chance to talk about the kiss, or anything they talked about before it. Harry was eager to get Malfoy alone, partly so they could talk, and partly for… other reasons.   
“Has Malfoy done something?” Ron said, forcing Harry to look away from the blonde Slytherin. “The great bloody git, I bet he has.”  
“Er- no,” Harry said. He pulled his eyes down to his plate and took a bite of his muffin. His friends watched him carefully, waiting for him to explain why he was behaving so strangely. When he didn’t say anything, they sighed and moved onto a different topic of conversation. Harry tuned it out until he heard them start to discuss Neville.   
“Neville and Hannah?” Hermione whispered, her eyes flitting over to the Hufflepuff table where Hannah Abbott was sitting with her friends. “That’s actually quite… fitting.”  
“It is, isn’t it?” Luna said, smiling. Harry’s head whirled in her direction; he’d been so lost in his own thoughts that he hadn’t noticed her sit down next to him.   
“Seems like everyone’s coupling up these days,” Ron commented absentmindedly, gazing at Hermione. Harry couldn’t help but smile at the pure adoration in his friend’s eyes. He knew, no matter what they went through, Ron would always love Hermione, and she would love him equally in return.   
“Seems like it,” Ginny agreed. At first, Harry thought she was staring at him, but he quickly realized she was actually looking just a few inches to his left, at Luna. Suspicion began to itch at the back of his mind, but he pushed it away, assuming it wasn’t particularly important at the moment.   
“Yeah,” Harry nodded, finally contributing to the conversation. In an effort to keep his gaze anywhere but the Slytherin table, he glanced over at Seamus and Dean, who were smiling while engaged in a quiet conversation at the end of the table.   
“So, Harry,” Ginny started, smiling mischievously. “Do you have your eye on anyone?”   
Harry’s eyes went wide, thinking for a moment that she knew about Malfoy. Of course, his worry almost instantly faded away; no one would ever possibly suspect that he and Malfoy were… together? Snogging? Harry wasn’t quite sure what exactly they were.  
“Er,” Harry cleared his throat, feeling just slightly awkward. Not only was he not eager to share his unclear relationship with a certain Slytherin, he also wasn’t exactly jumping at the idea of sharing his romantic prospects with his ex. Ginny was, and always would be, his friend, first and foremost, but he couldn’t completely forget their past entanglements. “No? No,” he said, more assuredly. Regrettably, Hermione picked up on his nervousness.   
“Are you sure?” she pressed gently. Her voice was sweet but her eyes were bright with curiosity, which Harry knew was dangerous. Hermione wasn’t the type to give up on searching for an answer.   
“Yes,” Harry tried to say as confidently as he could, but it was too late; the seeds of suspicion had already crept into Hermione’s mind.   
Despite Hermione’s interest, the conversation dropped as they finished their breakfast and headed back to the dormitories. Harry and Ron changed into their Quidditch gear and made their way out to the pitch for practice.   
When they arrived, Ginny told Ron to go to the other side of the field with the rest of the Beaters and Chasers. He obliged, leaving Ginny and Harry alone.   
“Today, we’re going to work on that trick Malfoy pulled last match,” she announced to him. He tried to keep his face blank at the mention of the blonde’s name.   
“The free fall move?” Harry clarified. She nodded. “Ginny, I don’t even know how he did it. I’m not sure I could pull it off.”  
“Well, we might as well try, right?” She smiled at him and he returned it.   
Harry spent the next two hours falling off his broom. To be safe, they practiced the move much closer to the ground than Malfoy had been at the match, so if Harry fell to the floor (which he did, more times that he felt comfortable admitting), he wouldn’t end up seriously injured. He managed to grab hold of Ginny’s broom a few times, and he was improving, but by the end of practice, he could feel bruises forming underneath his Quidditch robes.   
He changed into his regular attire in the locker room and started back towards the Gryffindor common room with Ron. Along the way, his red-headed friend suggested a game of Wizard’s Chess. Harry accepted, even though he would rather spend the rest of his afternoon searching for, and hopefully talking to, Malfoy.   
Luckily, fate seemed to be on Harry’s side, because on their way upstairs, Ron and Harry ran into a particular blonde Slytherin. Harry stopped when he caught sight of him, barely resisting the urge to let his mouth split into a wide grin. Malfoy kept his expression cool and composed, though Harry swore he saw a hint of a smile play at his lips for a moment before he spoke.  
“Potter,” he greeted, nodding curtly. “A word?” Ron narrowed his eyes at Malfoy, stepping forward slightly. The blonde’s eyes fixed on him for a moment. “Weasley,” he acknowledged Ron.   
“What do you want, Malfoy?” Harry said coldly, pulling Ron back. Ron relaxed slightly at the seemingly disdainful interaction. Malfoy rolled his eyes.   
“You might want to start borrowing Longbottom’s remembrall.” Harry cocked his head, not sure what the Slytherin was referring to. “We have that Potions partner project due next class, unless the Chosen One thinks he’s above mere homework?”  
“We don’t have-” Harry began, but he stopped when he spotted the roguish glint in Malfoy’s eyes. “Oh,” Harry exhaled, recollection dawning on him. He remembered Ron was still standing there, now slightly confused, and cleared his throat before continuing. “Oh. Right, yes, of course, that project,” he lied. “Ron, I’ll see you later.”  
With that, Harry followed after Malfoy as fast as he could, ignoring Ron’s flabbergasted expression. The Slytherin boy led without speaking, walking through the halls with his chin raised and his face neutral, giving nothing away.   
Eventually, they ended up in a dark corridor near the Charms classroom, which was completely empty.   
“I thought we should talk,” Malfoy finally turned around, satisfied with their level of privacy. Harry nodded, although his focus had become fixed on the blonde’s lips.   
“Right. Talk.” Harry swallowed, struggling to pull his gaze up to Malfoy’s eyes, which flickered dangerously.   
“Or…” Malfoy began, taking a step forward so there was only a few inches between their faces. “We could always… talk later.”   
“Yes, er- that, yes,” Harry stammered. Those lips were far too close to his own for him to be able to form proper sentences. Fortunately, Malfoy’s lips were soon pressed against his own, preventing him from any further embarrassing attempts at speech.   
Harry decided that kissing Malfoy was addictive. Every touch, every move sent sparks flying through his brain. Electricity coursed through his veins, forcing all thoughts out of his mind. Nothing had ever felt so dangerously wrong, or so perfectly right; he couldn’t get enough.   
But, eventually, Harry’s mind caught up with him, so when the kiss ended, he looked up into startlingly dazzling silver eyes and whispered:  
“Malfoy, what does this mean?” Everything between them felt so fragile, as if one wrong move would destroy everything. It was exhilarating, like walking on a tightrope, but the fear of falling was ever-present, ever looming over them.   
“For starters,” he smirked, adjusting Harry’s glasses, which had become slightly displaced. “I think it means you can stop calling me Malfoy, and start calling me Draco.”  
“Draco,” Harry repeated, testing the way the name sounded coming out of his mouth. It was so forgien, so unfamiliar, but it also sounded oddly right rolling off his tongue.   
“Harry,” Draco breathed, smiling. Harry thought it was the best thing he’d ever heard. Somehow, when the blonde spoke his name, he made it sound like an unwritten song, a melody so simple, yet so beautiful that he couldn’t help but smile. Draco cocked his head, considering for a moment. “Feels weird, doesn’t it?”  
“Say it again,” Harry whispered, longing to hear his name fall from the Slytherin’s lips once more.   
“Harry?” Draco said, raising an eyebrow.   
“And again.”  
“Harry,” he repeated.  
“And one more time,” Harry requested, letting his hands reach up to Draco’s face and trail along his jaw.   
“Harry,” Draco purred, and Harry nearly melted at the sound. Just as he was about to close the gap between them, however, Draco pulled away. Harry frowned and Draco smirked at him. “I didn’t just pull you into a dark corridor to snog, you know, there are some things we have to discuss.”  
“Fine,” Harry agreed, disappointed but obliging. “Have you told anyone about… this?”  
“Pansy and Blaise know, but that’s only because they know that I’ve fancied you for years,” Draco admitted, looking down at his shoes. “And I trust them to keep a secret,” he added haughtily. He lowered his voice again, this time his face deadly serious. “Have you told anyone?”  
“No.” Harry shook his head. “And I think, for the time being,” he paused, not sure how to say what he wanted to say next. “We should keep it that way.”  
“You want to keep this a secret?” Neither Draco’s face nor words gave any indication of his emotions. Harry wondered if he’d ever be able to decipher the Slytherin’s thoughts. He nodded slowly. Draco held his gaze for a long moment before relaxing his stony face. “I think that’d probably be best.”  
“Just for now,” Harry assured. “I’m not sure I’m ready for the rest of Hogwarts to find out about… this.”  
“What is ‘this’ exactly?” Draco took a step back and gestured between them, an eyebrow raised. “What are we?” As soon as the words left his mouth, the blonde boy looked like he wanted to facepalm himself.   
“Did you just ask-” Harry started, smirking.   
“Yes, yes I did,” Draco grumbled. Harry bit back a laugh. “Shut up.”  
“I didn’t even say anything!” he protested, and the Slytherin rolled his eyes.   
“You were thinking.”  
“So I’m not allowed to think anymore?” Harry teased, leaning against the wall. He realized that petty arguments with Draco were a lot more fun now that he knew the blonde didn’t hate him.   
“No,” Draco stated, frustrated. Harry resisted the urge to smirk. “Just… answer the question!”  
“That’s what I was thinking about!”  
“Fine!”   
Silence passed between the two boys as Harry considered the question. They certainly weren’t enemies anymore, he knew that to be a fact. He also knew he definitely didn’t want to be friends with Draco; he wanted something more. But there were so many doubts, so many questions yet to be answered.  
The voices of his aunt and uncle haunted him, screamed to him that he, that this, was disgusting and wrong. There were two other new voices, smaller voices that sounded a lot like Ron and Hermione, that told him that he shouldn’t trust Draco.   
How many times has he hurt you? The voices reminded him. And you weren’t in a vulnerable position then, what do you think he’ll do if you put your faith in him?  
But one voice broke through all the others; it was his own.   
But he didn’t mean to hurt you, Harry reasoned to himself. You saw that yourself. The things he did were wrong and awful, yes, but he didn’t have a choice. Would you have been any different if you were in his position? Or would you have been even worse?  
Draco cleared his throat, reminding Harry that he was still there, and that Harry had, for all he knew, been staring off into space for the past few minutes.   
“Well?” he prompted, urging Harry to give his answer. His voice was strained, almost like he was nervous for what Harry was going to say.   
“I think…” Harry began and then shook his head. “I want us to be… an us.”   
“As in, together?” Draco clarified, already looking less tense.   
“Yes.” Harry nodded, feeling more sure about his decision by the second.   
“So that would make you, what? My boyfriend?” he smirked and leaned against the wall beside Harry.   
“If you’ll have me,” Harry joked, although there was a certain level of honesty to his words. Draco cruelly pretended to think about it, leaving Harry nervous for a moment.   
“I suppose you’ll do,” he said, feigning disdain. Harry laughed and relaxed into the wall.   
“But like I said,” Harry turned to face Draco. “I’m not ready for Hogwarts or…” Harry shuddered. “The Prophet finding out about us yet.”   
“It’s not them I’m worried about,” Draco muttered resentfully towards the stone floor. Harry looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to explain. The blonde noted his confused expression and clarified. “My parents. They don’t know I… well, they don’t know I like boys. And they certainly won’t be happy when they find out.”  
“Is it… because you’re a pureblood?”   
“Partially,” Draco shrugged. “They’re also rather traditional. I’m sure my mother would come around eventually, but my father…” He didn’t finish his sentence, instead closing his eyes and sighing.   
“But they will have to find out someday, won’t they?” Harry pried. He knew there were people out in the world who spent their entire lives pretending to be someone they weren’t just to please their families. His heart sank at the prospect that Draco would someday become one of those people.   
“Yes,” Draco said. “Someday. But that day isn’t today.”


	28. The Hickey

Chapter Twenty-Eight

The next few weeks passed in a flurry of homework, Quidditch, and stolen kisses. Detentions were certainly more interesting now, and Harry stole Draco away every chance they got; at this point, he was sure that he knew all the secret corridors of Hogwarts better than the Marauders Map did. Every kiss, every touch, every conversation was just as exhilarating as the first, but the novelty of a secret relationship was beginning to wear off.   
After one particularly exciting detention, Harry found himself cornered by Ron in the bathroom the next morning.   
“Harry, what’s that?” Ron asked, eyes wide and staring at Harry’s neck.   
“What’s what?” Harry looked towards Ron, his vision still foggy from exhaustion. Slughorn dismissed detention later than usual (not that Harry minded anymore), meaning that Harry didn’t get nearly as much sleep as he wanted.   
“That, right there.” Ron pointed to a spot just below Harry’s jaw as Neville exited one of the stalls and began washing his hands at the sink. “Is that-”  
“A hickey?” Neville chimed in, peering closer. Harry glanced down, and sure enough, there was a purplish red bruise on the spot part of his neck below his chin. Silently, he cursed Draco for his indiscretion.   
“Er-” he started, not exactly sure how he could explain his way out of this one. His absences over the last two weeks could easily be covered up with excuses like needing to study, or extra detention, but justifying the large hickey on his neck was not easily done.   
“It is, isn’t it?” Neville laughed as Harry turned bright red. Ron joined in for a moment before his eyes narrowed and he regarded Harry cautiously.   
“You’re not back together with Ginny are you?” he asked, eyeing Harry warily. Harry was about to say no when Neville snorted.   
“It’s definitely not Ginny,” he muttered under his breath, chuckling. Harry watched him curiously and then turned back to Ron, who apparently wasn’t paying any attention to Neville.   
“No,” he said, shaking his head. He glanced back down at the hickey. “And it’s not a-”  
“Who’s the lucky girl, then?” Neville cut in, leaning against the countertop and crossing his arms over his chest.   
“No one,” Harry answered. Technically, it wasn’t a lie; there was no lucky girl.  
“Come on, tell us!” Ron whined, following Harry as he made his way out of the bathroom and started to rummage through his trunk.   
“Urgh.” Harry ignored Ron’s pleading and riffled through his clothes, eventually finding what he was looking for. It had been an unusually hot November, so it was still too warm for a scarf, but Harry would rather be hot than deal with any more questions about the mark on his neck.   
He walked down to the Great Hall without saying a word, although Ron refused to stop jabbering by his side. Neville joined in at first, but once they had reached the Great Hall, he seemed to have either gotten bored or taken pity on Harry and departed them to sit with Ginny and Luna. Harry hoped that Ron would get tired of his begging by the time they sat down for breakfast; he was sorely mistaken.   
“Harry. Harry…” Ron tried to get Harry’s attention, and when he continued to ignore him, he leaned across the table and began to shout in his face. “Harry, Harry, Harry-”  
“Will you shut up?” Harry finally looked up from his plate and glared at Ron. Ron opened his mouth to speak before Hermione interrupted.   
“Yes Ronald. Please do stop pestering Harry.” She reprimanded her boyfriend from behind that morning’s edition of the Daily Prophet. Ron frowned, but sat back down in his seat.   
“Thank you Hermione.” Harry sighed and took a bite of his breakfast.   
“What are you bothering him about anyways?” Hermione glanced up from behind her newspaper and glared at Ron.   
“This.” Before Harry could react, Ron reached across the table and yanked his scarf away, revealing his hickey. Hermione dropped the paper and gasped.   
“Oh my goodness! Harry is that a-”  
“No,” Harry said at the same time that Ron said, “Yes.” He shot Ron a menacing look, and Ron merely smirked in return. I will kill you, Harry mouthed.   
“Wait, then who-” Hermione began, but Harry had had enough of his friend’s curiosity for one day.   
“I’m not saying anything. It’s nothing, leave it alone!” Harry said defensively, and a little louder than he intended. He’d managed to attract the attention of Lavender and Pavarti, who were sitting a few meters away.   
“Fine,” Ron huffed. “But you can’t keep it a secret forever.”  
Harry was about to insist that yes, yes he could, but McGonagall had begun to clink her glass at the front of the room, calling the students to attention.   
“Good morning, students!” she greeted them. “I have a quick announcement before you all head off to your classes.”   
The students murmured for a moment before quiet fell over the hall.   
“As you may recall, you were asked to bring a set of formal clothes with you to Hogwarts this year. This is because we will be hosting a Winter Ball this year.”   
The distinct sound of Lavender Brown squealing carried over the other noises of excitement. McGonagall waited until the noise died down to continue speaking.   
“As I was saying,” She gave a pointed look in Lavender's direction. “There will be a Winter Ball this year on January 26th. This will be a formal dance for fourth years and up.”   
There were sounds of protests coming from the younger students, but they fell silent as soon as McGonagall held up her hand for quiet.   
“There will be no exceptions to this rule,” she finished, nodding at the students. “That is all, you may resume your breakfast.”  
After the announcement of the Winter Ball, the rest of the day was spent buzzing about what people were going to wear, what the Ball would be like, and who people were going to ask. Harry didn’t understand the fuss; the Ball was two months away.   
That evening, Ron and Harry were in the middle of a game of Exploding Snap when Neville and Luna came racing in.   
“She said yes!” Neville exclaimed gleefully while pulling Harry to his feet and pulling him into a hug. He then turned to Ron and gave him the same excited greeting. Luna stood off to the side, smiling.  
“Who?” Harry asked once Neville had released him and moved onto Ron.   
“Hannah!” Neville’s smile was wider than Harry had ever seen. “I just asked her to the Ball and she said yes!”   
“Congratulations mate!” Ron thumped him on the back. Neville grinned at both of them before bounding off towards the boys dormitories, most likely going to alert Dean and Seamus about the news. Luna walked over to one of the tables in the corner and pulled out that week’s edition of the Quibbler to read. He turned to Harry and sighed. “Does this mean I have to ask Hermione to the Ball?”  
“Yes?” Harry cocked his head and smiled. “Obviously. She’s your girlfriend, Ron, of course you have to ask her.”  
“Yeah,” Ron sat back down, and started to pack up their game. “She’s my girlfriend. Isn’t it, I dunno, unnecessary to ask her? It’s not as if she’s going to go with anyone else.”  
Harry sat down next to Ron and placed a hand on his shoulder.   
“Ron,” Harry began, giving his friend a pointed look.   
“Yeah?”   
“Do you remember fourth year? The Yule Ball?”   
“Yeah.” Ron nodded affirmatively. Harry started at him for a moment before continuing on.   
“And you remember how you wanted to take Hermione to the Ball?” Harry explained slowly.   
“Well, yeah, but she’d already been asked by-”  
“By Krum, right.” Harry paused for a moment, hoping his friend would understand what he was trying to say. Ron merely blinked back, still confused. Harry sighed. “You never actually got around to asking her because you assumed that she wouldn’t be going with anyone else, but she was going with someone else.”   
“Harry,” Ron’s eyes widened. “Are you saying Hermione wants to go to the Ball with someone else?”  
“What? No!” Harry shook his head, exasperated. “I’m saying that you should still ask her to the Ball, even if she is already your girlfriend.”  
“Oh,” Ron said, finally understanding. “You could have just said that in the beginning.”  
Harry laughed and helped Ron gather the rest of the pieces.   
“So, how should I ask her?” Ron questioned once they were finished cleaning up. “I mean, what did you do when you asked Cho?”  
“Er- I just sort of, asked her.” Harry shrugged. “But then again, she said no, so that’s probably not a great example.”  
“Well, maybe if I-”  
“Attention everyone!” Ron and Harry’s heads whipped around to find Ginny standing at the top of the staircase. She held a giant sunflower in her hands and Harry noted that she looked rather flushed. “Hello. As you all know, I’m Ginny Weasley. And you also probably know that that person, over there, in the corner,” She paused as she pointed towards Luna. The blonde peeked her head out from her magazine to find the entire room looking at her. A normal person might have been surprised or embarrassed, but Luna only seemed mildly amused and she waved at everyone. “Is Luna Lovegood.  
“What you probably don’t know, is that she is the kindest, most genuine, and most intelligent person I’ve ever met. So I have a question for you.” Ginny swallowed and took a deep breath.  
“What is it?” Luna asked curiously, her soft voice carrying across the room.   
“Luna, will you go to the Winter Ball with me?” Ginny’s voice projected utter confidence, but her face was apprehensive.   
“Of course.” Luna nodded and turned her attention back to her magazine. Ginny, however, wasn’t at all bothered by this; she grinned, ran over to Luna, and handed her the sunflower.   
When Luna took the flower, Harry glanced over at the other side of the room, where Neville, Dean, and Seamus were watching and smiling knowingly. Once again, the pieces clicked inside Harry’s brain: Ginny and Luna were more than just friends.   
“I don’t see what the big deal is,” Ron said, shrugging. “I mean, plenty of people went to the Yule Ball with their friends instead of with dates and they didn’t make a big show about it.” Harry snorted as he remembered Dean’s words: If there’s anyone more oblivious than you, it’s him.  
“Ron,” Harry started, biting back a laugh. “Luna is Ginny’s date.”  
“Huh?”   
“They’re not going as friends…” Harry trailed off, not sure how he could make this any clearer.   
“Bloody hell!” Ron shouted once the realization hit him. “They’re… Ginny and Luna… and-”  
“Yes?”  
“I should’ve known!” Ron finally managed to say. “She’s my sister, how did I not know?”   
“You don’t…” Harry began, hesitantly. “You don’t have a problem with it, do you?” Ron was a pureblood, but Harry hoped that his friend wouldn’t have an issue with two girls being together. Or two boys, Harry thought to himself.   
“What?” Ron furrowed his eyebrows. “No, why would I? Luna’s great; she’s much better than that Michael Corner.”   
“Right,” Harry said, chuckling. He yawned and checked the time. “I think I’m going to turn in.”  
“Already?” Ron pondered. “Blimey, Harry, it’s only ten o’clock. And it’s a Friday.”  
“Yeah,” Harry nodded. “Which means we have Quidditch Practice early tomorrow morning,” he pointed out. Ron groaned.   
“Why did you have to remind me?”   
“You should probably head up soon as well,” Harry suggested while grabbing his bag off the table. “Ginny’ll kill you if you’re late again.”  
“It was one time!” Ron exclaimed. He huffed and sat down on the couch. Harry rolled his eyes and left Ron for the dormitories, which were completely empty.   
He changed, brushed his teeth, and got into bed. Instead of sleeping, he uncovered Sirius’ diary and opened it to the most recent page. Like Ron said, it was only ten o’clock.   
December 18th, 1976  
Dear Snooper,   
Prongs is driving me mad. I thought he was insufferable when he was hopelessly pining after Evans, but no. Turns out when Evans actually, miraculously, agrees to go with him to the Yule Ball, he’s a thousand times worse. I swear, if he asks me “Which shirt do you think Evans will like more?” or “Do you think she’ll like my hair like this?” one more time, I don’t care if he’s my brother or not, I will hex him.   
I never understood all the fuss over the Yule Ball. It’s a dance, not a wedding, yet everyone treats it as if it’ll be the most important night of their life (to which I say, if that’s the most important night of your life, you need to get a more interesting life).   
Of course, James has been a particular pain in my arse because I don’t have an official date (for obvious reasons). And I can’t tell him why I don’t have a date, so he keeps pestering me about it…   
The world whirled out of focus, and when Harry’s vision cleared, he was standing in the boy’s dormitory with his father, Sirius, Remus, and Peter. Peter was idly thumbing through some Quidditch magazine that Harry presumed belonged to James. Sirius was sprawled out on Remus’ bed, trying to distract him from his book. Remus, of course, was having none of this and simply ignored his long-haired friend.   
James stood in front of the mirror, holding up several different ties to his shirt and examining them. The amount of intense concentration on his face made Harry want to laugh out loud.   
Sirius glanced around the room, and once he’d realized that neither James nor Peter were paying him any attention, he inched his hand towards Remus’. When their fingers brushed against each other, Remus gave him an amused, but puzzled look, and Sirius silently gestured to the preoccupied room. The taller boy gave a slight nod and took his hand, letting his careful eyes flit around the room one last time before interlocking their fingers.   
This continued on for a few minutes before James eventually narrowed down his tie options to two. He turned towards Sirius, who immediately dropped Remus’ hand and scooted away from him. This went completely unnoticed by James.   
“This one, or this one?” he asked, holding out the two ties as if he were weighing them.   
“The Ball’s still a week away, Prongs,” Sirius reminded him, tucking a strand of wavy black hair behind his ears.   
“Yeah, but I want everything to be perfect!” James ran a hand through his messy hair and whirled back towards the mirror. “She finally said yes! I get to go to the Ball with Lily.”  
“First name basis now, huh?” Peter commented from behind his magazine. His nose scrunched as he giggled.   
“For the record, I’ve been calling her Lily since first year,” Remus remarked, looking up from his book. James grabbed his Snitch and threw it across the room towards Remus’ head. “Just saying!” The werewolf laughed as he dodged the golden ball and James stuck his tongue out at him.   
As Harry watched them, he noted how much they were like their animagus forms. Peter, with his round face and pointed, upturned nose, reminded Harry of a rodent. James was clearly a stag: his rounded, soft brown eyes and dignified gait marked him as such. As for Sirius, he was probably the most obvious. With his shaggy black hair, mischievous smirks, and playful demeanor, Harry found it hard to believe that no one had guessed why his nickname was Padfoot.   
“Which one, Pete?” James walked to the other side of the room, where Peter peered up from his magazine. Instead of looking at the ties, he watched James.   
“You’re asking me?” He tilted his head to the side. “Shouldn’t you be asking Padfoot? He does have the best fashion sense out of all of us.”  
“He’s right you know,” Sirius said arrogantly, sitting up on the bed so he could look in the mirror and giving a wink to his own reflection. “It’s why all the ladies love me.”   
At this, Remus snorted. He covered this up by quickly turning his laugh into a cough, but Sirius gave him a knowing smirk.   
“About that, Padfoot?” James returned to Sirius’ side of the room and took a seat on the edge of Remus’ bed.   
“Yes Prongs?”  
“Why don’t you have a date yet?” James asked, genuinely curious.   
“Hmm?” Sirius’ gave no reaction, pretending like he had no idea what James was asking about.   
“To the Ball,” he clarified. “You haven’t asked anyone.”  
“Remus and Pete don’t have dates yet either,” Sirius threw his other two friends under the bus, and Remus shot him a glare.   
“I’ll have you know that I’m helping Wormtail here ask out Jillian after lunch today.” James shot a smile to Peter and glanced over at Remus. “And as for Remus, well, he’s too obsessed with books and his own intellect to have time for girls.” James paused for a moment and added: “No offense.”  
“None taken,” Remus replied, eyes still glued to his book.   
“So who's the lucky lady?” James shifted the focus back onto Sirius, who rolled his eyes and fell back onto the bed dramatically.   
“No one. I’m not asking anyone.” He glanced at James and smirked. “I’m going stag.” Even without looking behind his book, Harry knew that Remus was grimacing at Sirius’ horrible attempt at a pun.   
“What? But… You’re Sirius Black!” James exclaimed, nudging Sirius in the side. “You’re the greatest ladies’ man Hogwarts has ever seen!”  
“Please don’t feed his ego. It doesn’t need any more inflating,” Remus said, giving James a warning look, which he ignored.   
“Words can hurt, Moony.” Sirius gave a fake pout. James also ignored this and continued speaking.  
“And you’ve been single for three months now, which is the longest you’ve gone without a girlfriend since third year and-” he suddenly cut himself off, watching Sirius with an expression of pure horror. “Oh, god. Is she a Slytherin?”  
“Who?” Sirius asked.  
“The girl you’re secretly seeing,” James stated confidently, earning a bewildered laugh from Sirius.  
“I’m sorry, what?” Remus finally glanced up from his book, raising an eyebrow.  
“It’s the only explanation!”  
“Prongs,” Sirius took a second to stop laughing and spoke to James. “I’m not secretly seeing any girl, Slytherin or otherwise. I’m just…” he paused for a moment, giving a subtle glance to Remus before continuing. “Not interested in girls right now.” Harry smiled; technically, that wasn’t a lie.   
“That’s rubbish,” James huffed, crossing his arms over his chest.   
“James, if I was seeing someone, don’t you think you’d be the first to know?” Sirius pointed out. It was then that Remus guiltily averted his gaze and focused on his book.   
“... fine,” James conceded and turned his attention to Remus. “So, Moony, why haven’t you asked anyone yet?”  
“Oh, because… what was it?” Remus looked off to the side as if recalling some important piece of information. “Ah yes, I’m ‘too obsessed with books and my own intellect for girls.’” He smirked as he threw James’ words back at him.   
“I was only joking.” James rolled his eyes and pushed Sirius to the side so he could lean closer to Remus. “Come on, you’ve got to be interested in someone. It can’t just be me and Petey.” Remus opened his mouth, about to reply when James’ eyes grew wide and he sat up abruptly. “Hold on… Padfoot!” He grabbed Sirius’ shoulder. “He’s doing the face!”  
“What face?” Sirius glanced between Remus and James, confused.   
“Yeah, what face?” Remus repeated, affronted. Peter set down his magazine and walked over to the other three boys. He leaned down, watched Remus’ face for a moment, stood back up and said:  
“Yup, that’s definitely the face.”  
“The ‘I’m hiding something face!’” James elaborated at Remus’ puzzled expression.   
“This again?” Remus sighed and closed his book. “It’s just my face!”  
“No,” James corrected, waving a finger at Remus. “You only make this face when you’ve got a secret that you want to tell, but feel like you can’t for some reason.”  
“That’s awfully specific,” Remus remarked.   
“Your faces are awfully specific,” James said, crossing his arms over his chest. “Really Moony, for someone with such a huge secret, you’re actually quite easy to read once someone gets to know you.” He glanced at Sirius. “You know, Padfoot has a book full of all your different faces and what they-”  
“Does he now?” This caught Remus’ attention and he gave Sirius a smirk.   
“Shut up Prongs!” Sirius flushed and gestured for James to stop talking.   
“So what are you hiding?” James ignored Sirius’ embarrassment and instead focused on Remus. Peter took a seat on the bed, so now all three boys were crowded around their taller friend.   
“I’m not hiding anything,” Remus stated, his expression carefully guarded.   
“There’s no point in lying, we know you’re not telling us something,” Peter commented.  
“Come on Moony, we’re your best friends,” James whined, pulling at Remus’ sleeve. “You can tell us anything.”  
“Yeah, Moony. Why don’t you tell them your secret?” Sirius added, smirking playfully. There was a moment of silence before Remus finally responded.  
“Some secrets are meant to stay secret,” he decided finally. “At least for the time being,” he added, looking directly at Sirius.   
“You will tell us someday though, won’t you?” James asked, sighing. Obviously, he realized that Remus wouldn’t say anything until he wanted to. Remus gave him a nod.   
“Someday soon?” Sirius asked carefully. Remus turned his head towards him and they locked eyes. The shorter boy’s eyes were wide and hopeful, and Remus gave him a small smile.   
“Very soon, I hope,” he said softly. Sirius’ face split into a grin and he nodded.   
Reality pulled Harry out of the memory and back into his bed, where he closed the book and pulled the covers up to his chin.


	29. The Scarf

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Harry woke up early the next morning, so early that it was still dark outside when he got dressed. Putting on his uniform wasn’t easy to do in the dim light, but he refused to cast lumos at risk of waking the other boys up. If they awoke, they’d probably be wondering where Harry was heading off to so early in the morning; that was a secret he couldn’t tell.   
Just to be safe, he rummaged through his trunk and pulled out his invisibility cloak. The other students weren’t yet up, but that didn’t guarantee that Filch wasn’t patrolling the halls. He slipped the cloak over his head and snuck out the door.   
Once he exited Gryffindor tower, he found that the hallways were completely empty, like he suspected. His soft footsteps still echoed off the walls, emphasizing his loneliness. He passed by one of the courtyards, and watched the sky as he walked. This was his favorite time of the day. Some people loved sunrises: the first glow of the sun’s rays beaming over the horizon. But Harry loved the early morning hours before the sky lit up. He admired the soft purplish haze that bathed the world in a peaceful tranquility.   
He shivered as a cold December wind blew past him, nipping his face with chill. Pulling his scarf tighter around his neck, he pushed forward until he came to rest at a large gargoyle statue near the Quidditch Pitch.   
It only took a few minutes before a familiar haughty drawl sounded from behind him.   
“Fancy seeing you here, Harry.” He whirled around to find Draco striding towards him. If it weren’t for the unmistakable smirk branding his face, Harry wasn’t sure he would have recognized him: Draco Malfoy was wearing a sweater.  
Not only was he wearing a sweater, but he also adorned a Slytherin scarf, green knitted gloves with a matching hat, and grey earmuffs. Tufts of silver-blonde hair peaked out from under his beanie, drawing attention to his face, which was flushed pink from the cold. Harry couldn’t have smiled any wider.   
“Doesn’t sound quite as threatening when you’re using my first name,” Harry mused, grinning like an idiot.   
“Does that mean you’d like me to go back to calling you Potter?” Draco lifted an eyebrow teasingly.   
“Definitely not,” Harry chuckled while Draco leaned against the statue. “What’s with the get up?” he asked, letting his eyes flit up and down the blonde’s body.   
“What do you mean?” Malfoy said, crossing his arms over his chest.   
“I mean,” Harry paused. “You’re wearing a sweater. And gloves. And a beanie. And earmuffs.”  
“Sod off, I get cold easily,” he huffed, reaching up to adjust his hat.   
“Well then,” Harry took a few steps closer. “Let’s get somewhere warmer, shall we?”  
The Slytherin flushed even pinker when Harry winked and led him down the hall. They walked in silence for a bit, appreciating the unusual quiet of the castle.   
“I like it,” Harry blurted out. Draco shot him a puzzled glance, and Harry wondered if he’d ever stop feeling like an idiot when he was around this cunning blonde. “The sweater and earmuffs and all that.”  
“You do?” Draco asked cautiously.   
“Yeah,” Harry swallowed. “You’re always so… severe. With your black and your suits and all. I like seeing you all… I dunno, all soft. All vulnerable.”  
“Vulnerable?” Draco’s face twisted in disgust. Harry silently cursed himself; of course he wouldn’t want to be seen as vulnerable. His ego was only rivaled by that of… Harry couldn’t think of anyone else.   
“It’s not a bad thing,” Harry added hurriedly, not in the mood to pick a fight. The past few weeks had been wonderful, but Harry and Draco were still Harry and Draco: they were bound to jeer at each other occasionally. “Being vulnerable, I mean. Sometimes it’s harder than being strong.”  
“That’s moronic,” Draco said, but there was no ice in his voice. It was odd; the more time they spent together, the more Harry realized that it didn’t really matter what Draco said, it mattered in what way he said it. He could call Harry ‘the saviour of the wizarding world’ and twist it into a mocking insult, or he could say he was ‘an idiot’ and turn it into a loving pet name.   
“I don’t think so,” Harry disagreed, giving Draco a meaningful look. “It’s hard to build up walls, I’ll give you that. But it’s easy to keep them up, to never let anyone in. It’s a whole lot harder to tear them down.”  
“Walls are there for a reason,” Draco countered, his voice soft. “They protect you.”  
“To a point,” Harry turned the corner and Draco followed. “But after a while, are those walls really protecting you, or are they isolating you?” Harry’s question hung in the air, unanswered.  
Eventually, they reached an empty hallway, where Harry focused his thoughts as much as he could.   
I need a place where no one can find us, he thought. Sure enough, a small wooden door suddenly appeared at the end of the hallway.   
They walked through the door and looked around the room. There wasn’t much to it except for a small, brown couch in the corner and a side table.  
“So,” Harry said, turning away from the room and towards Draco.   
“So,” Draco repeated, inching closer and toying with the end of Harry’s scarf. Harry knew he must have been blushing based off the smug look on Draco’s face. The blonde kept his gaze intense, but didn’t move any closer. Harry cleared his throat and stepped slightly to the side, pretending to admire the room. As much as he enjoyed their rendezvous, Harry was rarely the one to initiate anything; he hated to admit it, but Draco was intimidating.  
He was intimidating, but not necessarily in the way that Harry used to think. Yes, there was a darkness to Draco that scared Harry as much as it lured him in, and a mysteriousness that frightened him and beckoned him to learn more, but there was also a fragility to the blonde boy that Harry hadn’t noticed before. He was terrified, not that Draco would hurt him, but the other way around. So much of the Slytherin’s life had been predetermined, by his family, by his circumstances; it only made sense that he wanted to be in control. And Harry, done with the uphill battle that was the first eighteen years of his life, was more than willing to let him take the reins.   
“Holiday break is coming up,” Harry said, trying to find a topic of conversation.   
“That it is,” Draco moved closer, his breath hitting the back of Harry’s neck. Harry closed his eyes at the sensation and tried to form coherent thoughts.   
“Are you going home?” Harry pried, unsure what else to do.   
“No.” Draco pulled away and strode to the couch. He sat down and started to remove his winter gear while looking at the ground. “I’m staying here.”  
“But why…” Harry’s words fell flat as he recalled he implying Draco returned to Malfoy Manor.   
“Not eager to see my family,” he answered coolly. “Or to go back to that house. Ever.” He took a breath and glanced up at Harry. “I assume you and Granger are going to the Weasley’s?”  
Draco had managed to stop calling Ron ‘the Weasel,’ but despite Harry’s insistence, he refused to call either of Harry’s friends by their first names.   
“Hermione is, I’m not.” He shrugged and took a seat beside Draco. “I’m going to Andromeda’s.”  
“Andromeda as in my aunt?” Draco clarified. Harry nodded.   
“She asked that I come and stay with her and Teddy.” At his confused expression, Harry elaborated. “Remus and Tonk’s son. I’m his godfather.”  
Luckily, the one thing that Harry and his friends had managed to keep out of the press thus far was Teddy. Neither Andromeda nor Harry wanted the child to grow up being constantly watched by the public.   
“Did you not know about him?” Harry pushed. Technically speaking, Teddy was Draco’s nephew; it struck Harry as odd that he wouldn’t be aware of him.   
“I did.” Draco nodded. “I just didn’t know you were his godfather. My mother rarely talks about her sister.”   
“Why?” At the fierce look Harry got in response, he regretted asking. Yet, Draco sighed and answered him.   
“At first I thought it was because she was ashamed. With her running off and marrying a Muggle and all. But now, I don’t think that’s the case. I think it just hurts too much,” Draco admitted, his face stony and his eyes glued to the floor. “She misses Andromeda, and she wants to reconnect with her, but she knows that’ll never happen with my father around.”  
“Why doesn’t she leave him?” The more Harry learned about Draco’s family, the more the question bugged him. From the way Draco described his mother, she was no saint, but she deserved much better than Lucius for a husband.   
“Fear,” Draco stated simply, finally looking Harry in the eyes. “It’s the only thing more powerful than love.”   
“I don’t agree.”   
“Of course you don’t,” Draco snorted, rolling his eyes. “You’re a bloody Gryffindor.”  
“That’s not why,” Harry said, shaking his head. “Your mother is actually the one who proved to me how much more powerful love is than fear.”  
Draco watched Harry carefully, awaiting an explanation.   
“She saved my life,” Harry said quietly. “Your mum, she saved my life. She lied to Voldemort,” Draco still flinched at the name, but less obviously. “She claimed I was dead when she knew I wasn’t. And you know why? It wasn’t because it was the right thing to do, it wasn’t because she wanted me alive, it was because she loves you.   
“She asked me if you were alive, and I told her yes, and I think she knew, deep down, what would happen if he won. She knew that the world would be better if Hogwarts won, and she wanted the world to be better for you.”  
“I never knew,” Draco uttered softly.   
“So yes,” Harry began, his voice back to normal. “I think that love is more powerful than fear.”   
“Do you really?” Draco asked, leaning closer so there was only an inch separating their lips.   
“I think it can be,” Harry breathed. “If we let it.”   
The gap between them closed a moment later, and the only feeling that mattered was the press of Draco’s lips against his own. Harry didn’t remember crawling into Draco’s lap, but now here he was, straddling his legs with his fingers tangled in the blonde’s hair. Harry quickly discovered that perhaps Parkinson was onto something in sixth year when she was playing with Draco’s hair. At the time, he’d judged her for looking so smug, but now, he could understand the appeal. Maybe it was the silky softness running through his fingertips, or maybe it was the soft noises of approval Draco emitted as he did it. When Draco’s mouth moved away from his own and started to trail kisses down Harry’s jawline, Harry grabbed his chin gently and pulled his gaze upwards.   
“Be careful. The last time you gave me a hickey, people noticed,” he said warningly. Unfortunately, this only intensified the mischievous glint in Draco’s eye.   
“I’ll make sure to be… discreet.”   
Soon enough, both their scarves, Harry’s glasses, and all of Draco’s winter apparel was thrown aside and Harry’s hands inched up the back of Draco’s shirt, his fingers dancing along his bare back.   
This caused Draco to push Harry off of him and down onto the couch. The blonde hovered above him and glanced down to the top buttons of Harry’s shirt.   
“May I?” he asked, his fingers grazing his collar.   
“Please,” Harry groaned. Draco’s delicate fingers made quick work of the buttons. He only undid the first three, so that the top of Harry’s collarbones were exposed. His hands traced over the darkly tanned flesh, and soon his fingers were replaced by his lips, which bit and kissed at the top of his chest.   
By the time they’d worn themselves out, Harry knew he was littered with marks. If he wanted to avoid being caught, he’d probably have to change in the bathroom before Quidditch practice. Speaking of which, Harry thought to himself.   
“We should probably go,” Harry commented. He was laying down, Draco curled against his side. With his shirt half-unbuttoned and his hair even more askew than usual, Harry looked as if he’d been properly snogged. Draco however, still looked fairly pristine and collected, aside from the way his usually slicked back hair was tousled and fell into his face.   
Draco lifted his head from Harry’s chest and squinted at him.   
“We do have Quidditch practice,” Harry reluctantly pointed out. “And people will wonder why we’re missing from breakfast.” Draco rolled his eyes, but sat up and began fixing his hair. Harry leaned down and gathered their garments off the floor. He handed a scarf, hat, pair of gloves, and a sweater towards Draco and absentmindedly wrapped a scarf around his neck after finishing on the last of his buttons.   
“Tomorrow?” Draco asked. Harry nodded.   
“Three o’clock?” he suggested, picking up his glasses and placing them on his face. Draco shook his head.   
“I’m giving Pansy dance lessons,” he said, and then his eyes widened as he realized exactly what he’d admitted to.   
“Dance lessons?” Harry raised his eyebrows.   
“I do come from a high class family,” he clarified, as haughtily as possible. “It’s only proper that I know how to dance.”  
“You’ll have to show me sometime,” Harry said, only half-way joking.   
“Five o’clock?” Draco offered, pulling his sweater over his head. His head got caught and so Harry moved over and gave him a hand. The Slytherin scoffed, but accepted the help.   
“Can’t. I’m studying with Hermione.” Harry stepped back as Draco tugged his gloves on. “Seven?” Draco paused for a moment, thinking, then nodded.   
“Seven,” he confirmed.   
“Same spot?”  
“Same spot.”  
They stood awkwardly for about a minute, neither really wanting to leave, but also not willing to admit it.   
“Goodbye,” Harry said finally. A wicked smile took over his face. “Malfoy,” he added teasingly.   
“Goodbye Potter,” Draco retorted with an equal playfulness.   
They left without another word, checking the hallway to make sure it was empty before proceeding to their respective houses.   
Harry crept into the dorm room, where, luckily, everyone was still asleep. It only took a few minutes before the boys gradually started to wake up, by which time Harry had brushed his teeth. None of them seemed to suspect anything, and so they went about their morning as usual. It was only on their way to the Great Hall that Ron noticed something particularly out of the ordinary.   
“But in order for us to win the Quidditch cup, we’ll have to beat Ravenclaw by…” Ron trailed off, giving Harry a very strange look. “Harry?”  
“Yeah, Ron?” Harry returned his expression of confusion.  
“Erm…” Ron cleared his throat and glanced down towards Harry’s neck. “Please tell me there’s a reasonable explanation as to why you’re wearing a Slytherin scarf?” Harry’s eyes immediately flitted down towards his scarf, and sure enough, he had grabbed the wrong one.  
“Oh!” he exclaimed, the wheels in his mind churning as he tried to think of a reasonable explanation. “Well, I-er…”  
“Bloody hell!” Ron gasped suddenly. “She’s a Slytherin, isn’t she?”  
“Who?”  
“The girl you’re seeing? She’s a Slytherin.” Harry felt a wave of deja vu as he recalled his father’s conversation with Sirius. What was it with secret relationships and everyone assuming you’re seeing a Slytherin? Of course, in Harry’s case, the Slytherin part was true: the girl part, not so much.  
“I’m not seeing-” Harry began, but he was interrupted.   
“Yeah right. I’m sure that hickey made itself,” Ron grumbled resentfully. Harry stopped and tried to talk to him.  
“Ron, look-”  
“I just don’t understand, Harry.” Ron sighed “We’re supposed to be best mates, we tell each other everything.” As Harry opened his mouth to reply, Ron cut in again. “And don’t lie to me.”  
“It’s not that I don’t want to tell you, I just can’t, alright?” Harry tried to explain without giving himself away. “It’s… complicated.”  
“Look, Harry, if you’re worried about us not liking her because she’s a Slytherin-” Ron started.  
“It’s not that.”  
“-then you’re partially right,” he barreled on, not hearing Harry. “But it’s not like we’ll be mean to her or anything. If you like her, then she’s alright with me. Even if she is a Slytherin.” Ron patted Harry’s shoulder and started walking again.   
“Thanks…” Harry said awkwardly, knowing that Draco being a Slytherin had little to do with his friend’s hatred. “It’s not just that, though. This… person, they’re not ready for everyone to know.” They sat down at the table, and Hermione must have caught the tail end of their conversation, because soon she was butting in.  
“So they’re keeping you a secret?” Hermione asked, and Harry began to protest, but Ron spoke before he could.   
“But why would they do that?” Ron looked bewildered. “You’re Harry Potter, everyone wants to-”  
“That’s completely beside the point, Ron!” Hermione lectured him. She turned to Harry. “They shouldn’t be asking you to lie about this or keep it from your friends; it’s wrong. It’s like they’re using you. You deserve to be with someone who’s proud to be with you.”  
Harry sighed and glanced between Ron and Hermione. He truly considered himself lucky to have such caring friends who were so protective of him, but when it came to keeping a secret relationship, neither Ron nor Hermione made it easy.   
“Look, both of you, I appreciate your concern, really I do, but it’s not like that.” Harry shook his head and considered what to say next. “We both have our reasons to keep things quiet, okay?”  
“Fine.” Ron shrugged, and Harry relaxed, thinking that they were going to drop the topic. “I bet Hermione can figure it out on her own anyways.” Harry nearly dropped the muffin he went to grab and glared at Ron.   
“Ron!” Hermione said, affronted. Harry was about to thank her when she murmured: “Though I suppose you do have a point.”  
“Hermione!” Harry exclaimed, regarding her with wide eyes.   
“If I manage to guess it right, will you tell me?” she asked hopefully. She noted his glance towards Ron and continued. “I promise I won’t say anything to anyone. Including Ron.”  
“Hey!” Ron protested, taking a bite of his waffle.   
“... fine,” Harry begrudgingly agreed.  
“Fantastic!” Hermione grinned. Harry bit back a laugh; Hermione was the smartest person he knew, but even the smartest person in the world would never guess that the person he was seeing was his former nemesis.   
“I doubt you’ll be able to figure it out anyways.”


	30. Guessing Games

Chapter Thirty

“So, she’s a Slytherin?” Harry peered up from his Charms book. They were in Flitwick’s class, reviewing common charms as part of their N.E.W.T preparation. Normally, Hermione would be working diligently, most likely creating charts and extensive notes to study from, but instead, she had apparently chosen to focus her energies on bothering Harry.   
“Hermione,” he whispered. Other students in the class were talking, of course, but Harry didn’t want to risk having his conversation overheard if Hermione was going to insist on asking about his ‘secret girlfriend.’  
“-and I’m assuming she’s either in our year or is a year below us?” Hermione continued, not lowering her voice at all. Harry sighed.  
“You can assume all you’d like, I’m not saying anything,” he eventually said, and tried to return to his textbook. He had only read one sentence when Hermione piped up again.   
“You have to give me something to work with!” she protested, pulling the book away from him. He reached for it, but didn’t make much of an effort to get it back. After all, he wasn’t actually all that eager to study Charms; he was just eager to end this conversation.   
“No, actually, I don’t,” Harry said, leaning back in his seat.   
“Is she in any of our classes?” she asked, glancing around the room as if she’d be able to find Harry’s ‘girlfriend’ amongst the students.   
“I told you, I’m not saying anything,” Harry repeated, holding out his hand for the book. Hermione rolled her eyes, but handed the textbook back. She huffed, annoyed, and crossed her arms over her chest.   
“Fine.”  
The rest of class passed uneventfully, and afterwards, Harry headed up to the dormitory. Ron and Hermione went off to study, and though they offered for Harry to come along, he had a sneaking suspicion they were looking forward to some alone time, so he excused himself.   
At first, he tried to work on his Charms essay, hoping that maybe he’d finish it before even Hermione did, but it only took a few minutes before that got dull. He considered going out to the Quidditch Pitch and flying, but when he checked out the window, he saw that the Hufflepuff team was already down practicing.   
So, with nothing else to do, Harry pulled old Sirius’ worn diary and began to read.   
December 25th, 1976  
Dear Future Sirius,  
First of all, to the future me reading this, I apologize in advance for the massive hangover you’ll have tomorrow. To be fair, it wasn’t entirely my fault. Wormtail somehow managed to sneak in an entire bottle of Firewhiskey to the Yule Ball. Honestly, I’m impressed and quite proud of the boy. Our little Petey is finally growing up.   
The Ball was a disaster, which was what made it so good. Half the students were drunk off their tits, and the other half were attempting to dance by awkwardly looping their arms around each other and swaying. James managed to keep it together though. It was a close call, I thought he might pass out when he first saw Evans come down in her dress.   
They seemed to have a good time. I wouldn’t be surprised if we’ll be seeing a lot more of her in the future. Evans isn’t so bad, really. Sure, she’s still a goody two shoes who’s too smart for her own good, but she’s not all bad…   
The room spun out of focus until Harry landed on the floor of the Great Hall, which he hardly recognized at first. The starry night sky was still there, but the rest of the hall had been decorated with silver and gold streamers that sparkled in the light of the floating candles. Someone, presumably Dumbledore, had also charmed the ceiling so miniscule snowflakes were falling. The tables were pushed to the side, and were littered with food and drinks. Harry looked around, wondering where Peter had hidden the Firewhiskey.   
Suddenly, a tall redhead came to lean against the wall beside Harry. She was wearing a long, flowing dress adorned with white flowers. The dress was a deep emerald, and when Harry glanced up, he noted that the dress accentuated the green hues in her eyes. Her hair was pulled back into a loose, braided bun, and there was a matching white flower pinned to it. It was then that Harry recalled what a gorgeous woman his mother had been.   
“Enjoying yourself?” she asked him, only Harry knew she couldn’t possibly be talking to him. He wasn’t really there. His eyes flitted to the side and he realized that she was actually talking to Sirius, who Harry hadn’t noticed was standing right beside him.   
“Evans,” he greeted coolly, ignoring her question. “How’s Prongs? You haven’t left him all by his lonesome, have you?”   
“He’s fine. He’s getting us some drinks,” she commented lightheartedly.   
“How lovely,” Sirius drawled sarcastically. “Perhaps you should go join him then,” he suggested, drawing a flash out of his suit jacket and taking a swig.   
“Why do you hate me?” she came right out and asked. Harry had a feeling his mother wasn’t one to beat around the bush.   
“Because James would do anything for you,” Sirius replied, shrugging. “He’s in love with you.”  
“He’s not in love with me,” she brushed off his comment and crossed her arms over her chest.   
“Yes,” Sirius looked her dead in the eye. “He is. Has been for years.” She rolled her eyes, still not believing him.   
“Why would that make you hate me?” she questioned, going along with the idea. Sirius took another sip from his flask and screwed the cap back on before answering.  
“Because you don’t feel the same,” he turned to Lily, his gaze intense. There was no anger to his face, but there was a fierceness there, a protectiveness that Harry hadn’t seen before. “He would pluck the sun from the sky if it’d make you smile, and you can hardly stand him. You’ll only end up hurting him.”  
“Me?” She scoffed incredulously. “James isn’t fragile, Black, I’m not going to break him.”   
“I wouldn’t be so sure.” Sirius turned away from her, watching the crowd. “You might not believe it, but James isn’t the arrogant prick you think he is. He loves more than anyone I know. And you mean the world to him, Merlin knows why. If anyone could break him, it’d be you.”   
“You’re awfully protective of him,” Lily commented curiously.   
“He’s my brother. He saved me when no one else could. He’s always been there for me, even when I screw up. So it’s only right that I’m there for him.”   
Lily watched Sirius for a moment, neither of them speaking. She cleared her throat and stood up straight, no longer leaning against the wall.   
“So you know,” she glanced at Sirius. “I like James. A lot,” she grimaced as if it hurt to admit this. “More than you can know. And I’d never try to hurt him or use his… affections to my advantage.” Sirius blinked back, determining if he trusted her or not.  
“Good.” He nodded and started looking at the crowd again.  
“Don’t tell him I said any of that,” Lily blurted suddenly.   
“Of course not,” Sirius laughed. “I love the bloke, but we don’t need to give him any more of an ego than he already has.” Lily giggled along with him.   
“It’s sweet,” she said a moment later, smiling. “How you care about your friends so much.”   
“I’d do anything for them. They’re the most important people in my life. They’ve never let me down.”   
“And Remus?” she questioned not so subtly.   
“What about him?” Sirius said cautiously, his face eerily unreadable.   
“He’s…” Lily trailed off as Sirius spotted Remus across the room and gave him a small smile. “He’s a bit more than just a friend, isn’t he?”  
“Of course.” Sirius smirked. “He’s not just my friend. He’s one of my best friends.” Lily didn’t find this funny.   
“You know that’s not what I meant.”  
Sirius paled and hastily opened his flask. He took a long swig and glanced wistfully across the room before speaking.   
“How did you know?” he finally said, avoiding eye contact. “Did he… did Remus tell you?” Lily shook her head.   
“It’s not hard to see.” She shrugged, adjusting her necklace. “You are rather obvious.”  
“No we’re not,” Sirius disagreed gruffly.   
“Yes, yes you are,” Lily corrected him. “Always going off together, the secret touches when you think no one is watching, the lingering gazes that are clearly much more than platonic…”  
“Alright,” he held up a hand, stopping her. “I see your point.”  
“Does James know?” Sirius stared at his shoes. “I assume that’s a no,” Lily correctly guessed. “I don’t think you should worry so much,” she said matter-of-factly. “James is no bigot; if he were, I wouldn’t be dating him.”  
“Dating him?” Sirius looked up with a smirk. Lily flushed bright red, but to her credit, she continued speaking completely normally.   
“I doubt he’d have any issue with you and Remus being together.”   
“That’s not the issue. Well, that’s part of the issue,” he added. “But really, it’s that it’s always been the four of us: the Marauders. And James and I have always been inseparable. He was the most important person in my life, and now…”  
“Now you have Remus,” Lily finished for him, urging for him to continue.  
“James is still my brother, and obviously I still love him, but I feel almost like… like I’m abandoning him.”   
“You’re not abandoning him,” she reassured Sirius, nudging him with her elbow. “Like you just said, he’s still your brother, so you’re obviously not planning on ending your friendship any time soon. And he’s still got Remus, and Peter, and… I suppose he has me too.”  
“You know,” Sirius straightened up and cleared his throat. “You’re not half-bad Evans.”  
“Neither are you Black,” Lily replied jokingly. They chuckled as a group of fifth year Hufflepuffs danced past.   
“You’re good for James,” Sirius decided, nodding. “He needs someone who’s sensible.”  
“And oddly enough, I think you’re good for Remus,” Lily added with a smile. “He needs someone who’s not so sensible.” Sirius feigned indignation and fake gasped.   
“I take back what I said about you not being half-bad.” Lily rolled her eyes, and they both glanced up as they saw James approaching with two drinks in hand.   
“Lily and Sirius? Talking? And no one’s dead yet?” James raised his eyebrows and handed Lily her drink. “Must be a Christmas miracle.”  
“He was just saying how I’m a lovely girl, and he’s so sorry for treating me so poorly all these years,” Lily cooed, batting her eyelashes exaggeratingly.  
“Not entirely true,” Sirius said, shrugging and taking a sip from his flask.   
“May I have this dance?” James bowed his head and held out his hand.   
“Certainly Prongs,” Sirius butted in. He grabbed James’ hand and pulled him in to plant a kiss on his cheek.   
“Not you!” James laughed, batting Sirius away. The long haired boy chuckled and returned to his place leaning against the wall. James turned to Lily. “May I?”  
“Certainly.” Lily took his hand and flashed Sirius a smile as they walked towards the dance floor.   
Soon enough, Remus came striding out of the throng of students and leaned beside Sirius.  
“Hello stranger,” he whispered in Sirius’ ear. “Fancy seeing you here.” Sirius considered for a moment.   
“I think I prefer ‘Angel,’” he mused, grinning playfully.   
“Are you policing my pet names?” Remus asked, amused. Sirius shrugged.  
“At least ‘stranger’ is a whole lot better than ‘idiot.’” Remus snorted and turned his attention to the dance floor.   
“I don’t get it,” he commented absentmindedly, watching a pair of Ravenclaws. He snatched the flask out of Sirius’ hand, and before the black-haired boy could protest, he took a drink. Sirius’ eyes widened and he laughed.  
“Alright Mr. Prefect,” he said, impressed. Remus handed the flask back. “What don’t you get?”  
“Dancing.” Remus shrugged, tucking his hands into the pockets of his trousers.   
“Love,” Sirius began, softly so no one could overhear. “I don’t think I’ve ever even seen you dance before.”  
“Because I don’t understand the appeal,” he explained. Slowly, Sirius’ face split into a grin. “Oh no, what evil scheme are you planning now?”  
“No scheme,” Sirius said, shaking his head. “Just follow me.” The long-haired boy shot off in the direction of the exit, and Remus sighed, but obediently followed him out the great doors.   
Harry walked close behind, and eventually they came to stop in an empty classroom. The lights were out, but there was moonlight glittering through the window, illuminating the open space.   
“What is this?” Remus asked, quirking an eyebrow.   
“Dancing.” Sirius took a step closer to Remus, and mimicking James, he bowed his head and offered his hand. “May I have this dance?”  
“But there’s no music,” Remus pointed out.   
“Moony,” Sirius laughed and took Remus’ hand, pulling him closer. “You’re ruining the moment,” he whispered.   
They swayed together, somewhat awkwardly given that Remus was, frankly, a terrible dancer and they had no beat to move to. But despite this, both boys had the widest smiles on their faces. Remus gasped slightly when Sirius dipped him down suddenly, and as he was pulled up, he was laughing.   
“I think I get it now,” he breathed, his face only inches from Sirius’.   
The memory swirled out of focus as the two boys began to kiss, and Harry was now sitting on his bed with the diary in hand. He checked the time and saw that he only had a few minutes before his next class, so he raced out of Gryffindor tower, barely getting to Transfiguration in time.   
“Good morning class,” Professor Lark greeted them once class began. “Today, we will be reviewing chapter seven and eight. There were quite a few mistakes on the last quiz, so I’d like to make sure to give each of you the proper time to review. You may talk quietly amongst yourselves, but please do try to keep your conversations on topic.”   
Harry silently groaned. Hermione was sitting next to him, and while he could usually count on her to stay focused on schoolwork, he had a sneaking suspicion she was going to be more interested in continuing her guessing game.   
“Is she on the Quidditch team?” He heard a whisper from beside him.   
“What?” Harry furrowed his brows and glanced up from his textbook. “Why would you think she’s on the Quidditch team?”  
“Because all your past crushes have played Quidditch,” Hermione explained simply, as if it were obvious, which now that Harry thought about it, it was.   
“Huh. I guess. I never really thought about that,” he said, realizing that Hermione was actually correct: Draco did play Quidditch.   
“So, is she?” she pried, desperate for an answer.   
“Like I said Hermione, I’m not going to tell you anything,” Harry reminded her, turning his attention back to his book. “If you have a guess, then-”  
“Daphne Greengrass,” Hermione cut in suddenly.  
“What?”   
“She’s in Slytherin, she’s captain of the Quidditch team, and…” She paused, considering something. “I suppose she’s pretty.”  
“No,” Harry said, shaking his head.   
“No?”  
“No,” he repeated confidently.   
This misstep seemed to throw Hermione off her game, because she spent the rest of class silently scribbling down notes, which Harry hoped were about Transfiguration, but knew were probably about his ‘secret girlfriend.’  
Given her first guess, Harry figured that he was right; Hermione wouldn’t be able to figure out who it was. Which meant this guessing game would go on forever if she could help it.   
Harry wasn’t sure that was a good thing.


	31. The Parkinson Theory

Chapter Thirty-One

Between classes the next day, Harry managed to catch Draco leaving Herbology. He reached out and caught him by the arm, pulling him into an abandoned corridor.   
“What the hell, Harry?” Draco sneered and smoothed out his now wrinkled sleeves, but didn’t push Harry away. “I thought we were meeting this afternoon.”  
“Sorry,” he replied hurriedly, glancing around the hall. “We are, I just had a thought that couldn’t wait.”  
“Out with it then,” Draco said impatiently, though Harry knew he had nowhere better to be.   
“You know how you were planning on staying here for the Holidays?”   
“Yes, I believe I might have mentioned it,” Draco drawled sarcastically, leaning against the wall.   
“I was thinking,” Harry paused and shifted, slightly nervous. “What if you came with me to Andromeda’s instead?” The blonde’s face became very still and stony. Harry could only presume he was apprehensive, so he continued. “That way, you wouldn’t have to go to Malfoy Manor, but you wouldn’t be alone either. And you could meet Teddy.”  
Harry waited for what felt like eons for Draco to respond.   
“Am I…” He cut himself off, biting at his lip. “Am I even welcome there?” Harry’s heart dropped as he realized that Draco wasn’t hesitant about spending his break with Harry because he didn’t want to, but because he thought he would be rejected by his own family.   
“You’re her nephew, I’m sure she wouldn’t turn you away,” Harry tried to reassure him, but it didn’t seem to help. “Would it help if I wrote to her? Asked her if you could stay? I’m sure she’ll say yes.” Draco nodded. Harry smiled and cupped the side of his face, stroking his cheek with his thumb.   
“What about my mother?” the blonde whispered. Harry cocked his head. “Do you think Andromeda would allow her to come as well?”  
“I can ask,” Harry said hopefully, which earned him a small smile. His eyes flitted to the other side of the corridor, where he spotted some movement.   
Unfortunately, Draco saw this as well, and seconds later he was tearing down the corridor.   
“Draco, wait!” Harry called after him, chasing him down. They rounded the corner and came face to face with Ambrose, the first year Gryffindor. He smiled and waved at them awkwardly. “Ambrose?”  
“You know this miscreant?” Draco pointed down towards the top of Ambrose’s curly head. Ambrose looked up with his wide, dark eyes, and Harry immediately felt the all too familiar urge to punch Draco in the face.   
“Draco!” he said warningly. He turned to the small first year. “Hi Ambrose, er-”  
“I didn’t see anything!” Ambrose blurted suddenly, and Harry was confused until he caught sight of Draco, who was glaring at the child like a predator about to go in for the kill.   
“Dra-” Harry cut himself off, realizing that he was about to use his first name. Then he recalled that he’d already used Draco’s first name in front of Ambrose, so doing it a second time really wouldn’t change anything. “Draco, enough.” The blonde held his glare for a few moments longer before rolling his eyes and looking at the ground. Harry, again, focused his attention on Ambrose. “Sorry about that. Look, I hate to ask but… you did see something, didn’t you?”   
Harry swallowed nervously as Ambrose slowly nodded. His eyes flitted to Draco pleadingly, but the Slytherin had nothing helpful to add. Instead, he witnessed the blonde nod towards Ambrose and mouth, We could just kill him.   
Are you mad? Harry mouthed back furiously. Draco merely shrugged.   
“Aren’t you two supposed to hate each other?” Ambrose asked, glancing between them. His expression was now a mixture between terror and curiosity, which Harry thought was a slight improvement. “That’s what people say, anyways.”  
“People are stupid,” Draco sneered. Ambrose flinched back.   
“We used to. Sort of,” Harry shrugged, shooting daggers at Draco. “But things changed after the war.”  
“So now you’re…?”  
“Together,” they said in unison.   
“Right.” Ambrose nodded and there was an awkward silence.   
“Look, Ambrose, no one knows-”  
“And we’d like to keep it that way,” Draco cut in threateningly, his eyebrows raised and his fingers itching to grab his wand out of his bag.   
“Given our history, it’s… complicated,” Harry said, ignoring Draco entirely, and hoping Ambrose would do the same. “So, for the time being, could you just not say anything?”  
“I won’t,” Ambrose promised, looking at both Harry and Draco. He took a hesitant step back, and when Draco didn’t attack him, he began to walk in the opposite direction. He only made it a few feet before he turned back. “By the way, I think… I think you two make a cute couple.”   
With that he darted away, leaving both boys stunned.   
“He knows,” Harry said, not sure what else he could say.   
“Thank you, oh Chosen One, for once again, stating the obvious,” Draco remarked sarcastically, rolling his eyes.   
“Oh shut up, you nearly scared him to death,” Harry retorted. “See you at three?”  
“Three,” Draco confirmed, and the two boys went their separate ways.   
When Harry arrived at lunch, he was relieved to find no one whispering or gossiping about him. Consciously, he knew he could trust Ambrose with their secret, but paranoia crept into the back of his mind. He watched the Slytherin table, catching sight of Draco laughing with his friends.   
“Oh my goodness!” Hermione gasped suddenly, her eyes going wide. Harry glanced towards her and found that her sights were locked on him.   
“What?” he prompted, hoping for an explanation. Ron looked at her with equal curiosity.   
“It’s Parkinson!” she nearly shouted, jabbing her finger towards the Slytherin table. Harry followed her pointing to the same spot he’d been watching earlier. He hadn’t noticed until now, but sure enough, Parkinson was sitting beside Draco.   
“Who?” Ron turned back towards Hermione.   
“Parkinson. Pansy Parkinson!” she said, regarding Harry like he was an idiot.   
“Yes, I know who she is,” Ron corrected. “I’m wondering why you’re-”  
“She’s the girl Harry’s seeing!” Hermione shouted, earning the attention of Ginny and Neville from where they were sitting nearby.   
“What?” Harry blinked slowly.   
“It fits!” Hermione was speaking as if a lightbulb had lit above her head. “The Slytherin scarf, the fact that you’re always staring off in her direction-”  
“I’m not always staring at her!” he protested, technically telling the truth: he might always be staring at the Slytherin table, sure, but he certainly wasn’t staring at Parkinson.   
“And it explains why you have to keep your relationship a secret!” Ron raised his eyebrows, not understanding where Hermione was going with this. Harry was just as confused, and took a sip out of his cup, assuming that his friend would explain herself eventually. “Well, obviously, Parkinson is cheating on Malfoy with Harry!”   
Upon hearing this, Harry spat out his pumpkin juice. He hurriedly grabbed a napkin and mopped up the front of his shirt, all while struggling not to laugh. Apparently, he wasn’t the only one who assumed Draco and Parkinson were an item.   
“That’s ridiculous!” Ron rolled his eyes, smiling. However, at his friend’s silence he turned and said: “Harry?”  
Harry debated for a moment: he had two options. One, deny Hermione’s accusations, which were quite untrue anyways, and let her continue her guessing game. If he chose this option, he wouldn’t be lying to his friends, but he also ran the risk of Hermione discovering who his actual secret ‘girlfriend’ was. If she had guessed Parkinson, it was only a matter of time before she realized Harry’s interest was not in her, but in her friend.   
His other option was to lie, and agree with Hermione’s ridiculous claims; which is exactly what he did.   
“She’s right.” Harry shrugged, trying to keep his face neutral. “She got it completely right. All of it.” Ron’s jaw dropped.   
“Parkinson,” he gaped. “Really?”  
“Really.” Harry nodded, hoping he looked like he was telling the truth.   
“That’s why you’ve been so odd about Malfoy!” Ron remarked, sharing a knowing glance with Hermione.   
“Huh?” Harry let his eyes flit over to where Draco was sitting and swallowed nervously. If Hermione hadn’t figured it out yet, he doubted Ron would, but he couldn’t be sure.   
“You hardly complain about him anymore, and you’re almost civil with him, because you feel guilty about stealing his girlfriend,” Ron explained like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Harry cocked his head to the side.   
“Well, I wouldn’t say-”  
“Harry, I don’t think this is a good idea,” Hermione cut him off, resting a hand on his wrist. “This isn’t like you. I get that Malfoy’s your nemesis and all, but it’s not right to steal his girlfriend from him.”  
“She’s the one who’s cheating on him!” Harry protested, playing along.   
“And you don’t deserve to be someone’s paramour,” she continued on, ignoring Harry’s comment. “If she wants to be with you, she should be with you, not forcing you to hide and lie to the people you love.”  
Harry sighed. Hermione had a point, or she would’ve had a point if he wasn’t blatantly lying to her. He needed out of this conversation; he wasn’t sure how much more he could improvise.   
“This is why I didn’t tell you,” Harry decided to say, hoping that it would end his friends’ comments. He pretended to be hurt, pulling his hand away from Hermione and crossing his arms over his chest. “I knew you’d judge me, judge her.”  
“We’re not judging you, Harry,” Hermione insisted, her face softening. “Or Parkinson.”  
“Well…” Ron began, but he was cut off with a sharp look.   
“We’re just worried about you is all.” Her eyes were so kind, Harry almost spilled the entire truth there and then. Almost. “We’re your friends, we only want what’s best for you. We just want you to be happy.”  
“I am happy,” Harry reassured her, feeling guilty. He glanced at Ron and gave him a nod as well. “Really, I am. And I understand that it doesn’t seem to make sense. I can hardly make sense of it either.” Harry felt slightly better knowing that everything he was saying was true.   
Hermione and Ron didn’t say anything, still conflicted, but they nodded and moved onto a different topic of conversation, which Harry was eternally grateful for. Once they’d finished lunch, Harry quickly dashed off, receiving a knowing look from his friends.   
He arrived at the library right at three o’clock, and made his way to the Advanced Divination section. N.E.W.T level Divination happened at that time, so both Draco and Harry knew the section would be abandoned.   
Draco was already there, dressed in charcoal grey trousers and a white button up, his robe down at his feet. He was leaning against the bookcase, examining his hands when he caught sight of Harry.   
“Has the little twerp said anything?” he questioned, his voice haughty and annoyed. To anyone else, it could have appeared that Draco didn’t care if Ambrose revealed their secret, but the fear in his eyes betrayed him. Harry shook his head and Draco immediately relaxed.   
“He’s not going to,” Harry said reassuringly, taking a step closer.   
“Good,” Draco uttered. He took Harry’s hand and traced his thumb over Harry’s knuckles.   
“So apparently…” Harry started, trying to decide how to inform Draco of Hermione’s ‘revelation.’ “Parkinson is cheating on you with me.”  
“What?” Draco pulled back, raising a shocked eyebrow.   
“At least, that’s what people are saying,” Harry mumbled shyly.  
“And why would people be saying that?”   
“Ron may have discovered a hickey on my neck the other day,” Harry admitted, and then gave Draco a pointed look. “Thanks for that by the way-”  
“Anytime,” Draco replied swiftly with a smirk. Harry chose to ignore this and continued.   
“And Hermione may have caught me staring in your general direction where Parkinson also happened to be sitting, and she may have assumed that I was looking at her and not you and created a whole theory about how she’s cheating on you with me and that’s why I haven’t told anyone about our relationship, and I may have panicked slightly and went along with it?” Harry said all of this in one breath, nearly stumbling over his words. It took Draco a second to process.  
“So according to this theory,” he spoke up finally, watching Harry carefully. “I’m dating Pansy?”  
“Yes.” Harry nodded. He thought that part was rather obvious.   
“Why would people think that?”  
“I thought that!” he protested.   
“Well, yes,” Draco remarked. “But we’ve already established that you’re an idiot.” He gave Harry a warm smile and brushed a strand of unruly hair out of his face.  
“Prick,” Harry retorted, sticking his tongue out playfully.   
“Git.”  
“Dickhe-” he began, but then remembered the issue at hand. “Wait… so what do we do?”  
Draco pondered Harry’s question for a moment, his hand still in his hair. He was glad the Slytherin was doing the thinking, because he wasn’t sure he was capable of coherent deliberation while Draco’s fingers were dancing in his hair like that.   
“We prove them right,” he finally said matter-of-factly. Harry cocked his head in confusion, waiting for Draco to elaborate, which he did, after rolling his eyes. “We get Pansy to play along for the time being.”  
“She would do that for us?” Harry asked. Pansy Parkinson was known for being a lot of things, but helpful was not one of them.   
“For me,” he corrected. “You forget she’s one of my best friends,” Draco said, stating the obvious.   
A shuffle from a few feet away notified the boys that they were no longer alone. Harry peered through the bookcase and spotted a group of young Ravenclaws pawing through the shelves. They wandered deeper into the library, away from the students, giving them a few more minutes to themselves.   
“You know how there’s a Hogsmeade trip next weekend? Before the break?” Harry asked suddenly, an idea springing into his mind.   
“Yes?” Draco responded.   
“What if you and I stayed behind? We’d have most of the castle to ourselves…” he offered, admiring the smile spreading on Draco’s face. Unfortunately, after a moment of consideration, Draco’s face fell.   
“I can’t.” He sighed. “I’m going home on that Friday afternoon.”   
“But what about Holiday break and Andromeda-”  
“It’s only for the weekend,” Draco cut in. “I have some… family business to attend to.” When Harry looked at him expectantly, Draco lowered his voice and watched his feet. “I have to attend the reading of Bellatrix’s will.”  
Harry repressed an angry shudder at the mention of her name.   
“Besides,” Draco shrugged. “You should be spending that day with your friends, since you won’t be with them over Christmas.” Harry smiled appreciatively and pressed a quick kiss to Draco’s lips. The sound of the students’ voices got closer once again, and Draco sighed and leaned his forehead against Harry’s. “Time for us to go.”  
Harry nodded and he slipped out of the shelves, Draco waiting a few minutes later to leave as to not raise suspicion. He escaped the library unnoticed, only to run into a sixth year Hufflepuff.   
“Sorry,” he said, brushing himself off. He shot her an apologetic smile and she blushed. “Wasn’t really looking where I was going.”  
“Oh, that’s alright.” She giggled. “I’m Jane, by the way.”  
“Nice to meet you,” Harry stuck out his hand and they shook. “I’m-”  
“Harry Potter, I know,” she smiled at him. “I know you’ve probably been asked this a million times already, but, I was wondering, do you have a date for the Winter Ball yet?”  
Harry instinctively glanced back towards the library, where he knew Draco was still hiding.   
“Oh, I see.” A brief expression of disappointment flashed across Jane’s face before it was replaced by a slight smile. “She’s a lucky girl, you know.”  
“I’m sorry?” Harry turned back, confused.   
“Pansy Parkinson?” She raised her eyebrows. “I heard from Pavarti that you were secretly seeing her, but I thought it was just a rumor.”  
“Pavarti?” Harry asked, dumfounded. He had no clue how Pavarti found out about Hermione’s theory, but if she knew, that meant she told Lavender, which meant that the entire school would be buzzing about it by tomorrow. Leave it to those two to run the Hogwarts rumor mill.   
Jane nodded and gave Harry a reassuring look. “Don’t worry, I won’t say anything. I know it’s complicated with Malfoy and all.”  
“Right, Malfoy,” was all Harry could manage to stutter out.   
“I hope things work out for you two!” she called over her shoulder as she turned and began to walk into the library. This time, she bumped into Draco, who gave Harry a curious look when he spotted him still standing in the hallway. She scuttled out of his way and gave Harry a knowing wink once she was behind him.   
“What was that about?” Draco gestured towards the door Jane had just disappeared behind.   
“Jealous?” Harry teased, after glancing around the hallway to make sure they were alone.   
“Hardly,” he scoffed. “She’s not your type.”  
“I have a type?” Harry crossed his arms over his chest, hoping Draco would say more. The Slytherin, instead, ignored Harry’s question.   
“I thought the whole point of you going first was so that we wouldn’t be seen leaving together.” He raised an eyebrow.   
“She knew,” Harry sighed. Draco looked mildly annoyed while he waited for Harry to explain. “About the Parkinson thing. Which means half the school probably knows at this point, which means the entire school will be talking about it by this evening.”  
“You’re the one who got us into this whole mess,” Draco mused, not taking Harry’s concern seriously.   
“And I have no idea how to get us out!” He exclaimed.   
“That’s what you have me for,” Draco leaned over and whispered in Harry’s ear. “Now, here’s the plan…”


	32. A Staged Breakup

Chapter Thirty-Two

“Are you ready for this?” Draco asked Harry, who was nervously adjusting his tie in the hallway by the entrance to the Great Hall. Parkinson was picking at her nails, paying him absolutely no attention.  
“I just have to sit there, right?” he asked, reviewing their plan once more.   
After Harry’s run-in with Jane a few days before, Draco explained the situation to Parkinson, and together, they hatched a scheme. Harry had never really thought about it before, but having a Slytherin, or in this case, two Slytherins on your side was quite useful.   
“Yes,” Draco answered, rolling his eyes. “Pansy and I will be doing most of the work, but you still have to react convincingly.”  
“Right.” Harry nodded.   
“I’m heading in,” he pressed a kiss to Harry’s cheek, and Harry blushed, knowing that Parkinson was standing right there. “Remember, you and Pansy come in a few minutes after me.”  
So Draco abandoned the corridor and entered the Great Hall, leaving Parkinson and Harry by themselves.   
“So…” Harry shifted awkwardly. “Thanks for doing this.”   
Parkinson shrugged, her blunt bob bouncing.   
“You didn’t have to.”   
“I would do anything for my darling Draco,” she purred in a way that Harry didn’t appreciate; he especially didn’t appreciate her use of the word darling. “And besides, I owe you.”  
“For what?” Harry tried to think of a single instance where he ever did something for the Slytherin girl in front of him.   
“For trying to offer you to Voldemort last year,” she stated unblinking. She, unlike Draco, had no issue using Voldemort’s name.   
“Right. That.” If he was completely honest, he’d almost forgotten about that at this point. After everything he and everyone else had lost, it seemed important in the grand scheme of things. “So are you apologizing?”  
“I don’t apologize,” she remarked, flicking her hair over her shoulder. “Actions speak louder than words.”  
“I see,” Harry nodded. “Well, for what it’s worth, you’re forgiven.” This earned him a slightly shocked expression. “I get why you did it. You were scared; we all were. It was my life versus everybody else’s.”  
“Right.” She nodded curtly and there they stood in awkward silence.   
“I have to ask,” Harry blurted out suddenly. Parkinson gave him an odd look that made him quiet for a second. “‘Darling Draco?’”  
“That’s not a question,” she pointed out, examining her nails once again. Harry opened his mouth to speak but she cut him off before he could. “If you’re asking if I’m at all interested in Draco, the answer is no.” Harry gulped and her face softened just slightly. “Even if I were, you wouldn’t have anything to worry about. He’s head over heels for you.”  
“Really-”  
“Don’t tell him I said that,” she interjected sharply.   
“Right.”  
“Right.”  
Harry peeked his head out into the Great Hall, and spotted Draco tugging on his ear: it was time. He gestured Pansy to follow him in and she did so obligingly.   
When they entered the Great Hall together, all eyes immediately shifted towards them. Harry pretended not to notice the whispers that erupted around him as he made his way to the Gryffindor table and sat down. He looked towards Parkinson, hoping his face held an expression of longing rather than the anxiety he was feeling inside.   
Draco, however, was a much better actor than Harry. As Parkinson approached him, his face was full of a mixture of love, hurt, and disdain. His eyes burned bright as he glared at her. It only took a few minutes before Harry heard yelling across the room.   
“Him? The bloody Chosen One!” Draco shouted, leaping out of his seat and looking down angrily at Parkinson. “How could you, Pansy?”  
“How could I? Are you serious?” She stood as well, making herself level with Draco. “You’ve been nothing but terrible and you dare to ask me why I chose him?”  
“What do you mean ‘nothing but terrible?’ I’ve-”  
“I mean exactly that! You only care about yourself! You always have!” she screamed back in his face. Harry involuntarily flinched; Draco insisted that the blame be shifted to him when they were writing their script. “The only good thing you had going for you was your name, and now even that’s worthless!”  
By now, the entire hall was dead silent and fixated on the two Slytherins. No one dared to move in fear that their wrath towards each other might be shifted.   
“Do you want to know why I chose him, Draco? Because he’s kind while you’re cruel, he’s generous where you’re selfish, and he’s loving when you’re cold. I chose him because he’s everything you’re not.”  
When Draco stormed out of the Great Hall, it took Harry a moment to remember that the whole fight was staged. It took him a second longer to realize that Ron was talking.   
“...never thought I’d agree with Parkinson of all people.” Harry only heard the end of what Ron was saying.   
“What?” he asked.  
“I was just saying how it serves him right.” Hermione shot him a reprimanding look, but he continued on. Harry’s hands tightened into fists, his nails curling into his skin. He didn’t see Hermione take notice of this gesture. “I may not like your new girlfriend, but at least she recognizes that Malfoy’s a bloody-”  
“I have to go.” Harry stood up abruptly and left the table without another word. He knew if he had to listen to one more insult fly out of Ron’s mouth, he just might lose it. He sped out of the Great Hall and when he caught sight of a familiar blonde head in the courtyard, he rushed towards it.   
Before Draco could say a single word, Harry had gripped the front of his collar, jerking him up into an angry kiss. It felt like it only lasted for a few seconds, but Harry knew it must have been longer, because by the time he pulled away, he was panting and his lips were swollen.   
“You know it’s not true, right?” he breathed, resting his forehead against Draco’s. The Slytherin head was still swimming, so it took him a moment to respond.   
“What?”  
“What she said in there, it’s not true.” Draco chuckled and peered around the courtyard, determining that they were alone before running his fingers through Harry’s hair. Harry realized he hadn’t even checked that there was no one else in the space before kissing Draco. “You’re not worthless.” Harry took a breath. “I choose you because you are cautious while I’m brash, you’re smart when I’m… well, not, and you’re collected where I’m a mess.”  
“So you’re saying I’m the Chosen One’s chosen one?” Draco raised an eyebrow and smirked. Harry pushed him away playfully.   
“I thought we were having a moment,” he teased, acting offended.   
“We were,” Draco took a step closer, rolling his eyes, but smiling. “It was very sweet. But you do realize all of that-” He gestured towards the Great Hall. “-was just acting right? Pansy and I must be better than I thought if we had even you fooled.”  
“You were quite brilliant,” Harry admitted.   
“Why thank you.” Draco took a deep bow and Harry laughed. However, when Draco shot up and shoved him down to the ground, he wasn’t laughing anymore.   
Harry was about to ask what the hell Draco was doing when the blonde started shouting at him.   
“You had to steal my girlfriend too? Really Potter?” Harry was very confused until he spotted a group of Gryffindor first years crossing the grass. Draco leaned down and grappled the front of Harry’s robes. Then he whispered: “We should probably avoid each other for the next few days, we don’t want to raise any suspicion.”  
“That’s probably best,” Harry whispered back, agreeing reluctantly. “You and your mother are coming to Grimmauld Place after the will reading on Monday?” Draco nodded in confirmation. He then released Harry and stomped off, the first years fleeing as he approached them.   
Harry stood, brushed himself off, and headed back to Gryffindor tower. When he arrived, Hermione was sitting with Ron, who was still talking about Draco.   
“I mean honestly, it’s hard to picture him in a relationship at all.” A look of horror dawned on Ron’s face. “Imagine if Malfoy-”  
“Harry!” Hermione interrupted her boyfriend and greeted Harry. “Where’d you run off to earlier?”  
“Er- I…” Harry tried to think of a believable story, and instead decided to tell the truth. Or at least part of the truth. “I just had to get out of there. Clear my head.”  
“I get it, mate.” Ron nudged Harry in the side as he sat down. “But hey, at least you’ve got Parkinson all to yourself now.”  
“I suppose,” Harry said, managing to keep a straight face.   
“Why don’t you invite her to come with us to Hogsmeade?” Hermione suggested, and Harry tried to blink back his surprise.   
“Are you kidding?” Ron blurted out, looking at Hermione incredulously. One sharp glance shut him up. “Right, Hogsmeade with Parkinson. Great idea.”  
“Malfoy’s at a will reading, so you won’t have to worry about him,” she pointed out.   
“How did you know about the will reading?” Harry questioned. As far as he knew, that wasn’t common knowledge. Hermione shrugged.   
“Luna told me.”  
“Look, Hermione, I’m sure Park-” Harry caught himself about to use Parkinson’s last name. Again, this did not go unnoticed by Hermione. “I’m sure Pansy would love to, but-”  
“Come on, Harry,” Ron said. “We’ve got to get to know her eventually, seeing as we’ll probably be seeing a lot more of her from now on,” he added, grumbling. Harry wasn’t sure how he could say no. So he said yes.   
A little over a week later, Harry was walking towards Hogsmeade, Hermione and Ron on his left, and Parkinson on his right. He’d spent the morning packing as a form of stalling; he was dreading this trip. Lying about his relationship was one thing, but pretending to be dating Pansy Parkinson was far outside of Harry’s comfort zone.   
“Take my hand,” he heard a hushed voice utter from beside him. When he turned, Parkinson was looking at him expectantly. She held out her hand and Harry took it, knowing they needed to keep up appearances.   
The walk to Hogsmeade felt longer than usual. Hermione tried to keep the conversation going, and made an effort to include Parkinson, but after a few minutes of tense small talk, she gave up. They were still walking in silence by the time the four of them strolled into the Three Broomsticks.   
“So Pansy,” Hermione said as they settled into their seats. “How did you and Harry first get together?”  
“He hasn’t told you?” she deflected. Hermione shook her head.   
“He’s barely told us a thing about you.”  
“Leaving it all up to me, are you?” Her voice was sickly sweet and she gripped his arm in a way that appeared sweet, but the nails digging into Harry’s skin said otherwise.   
“Sorry… sweetie,” he added, trying to keep up the facade. She gave him an annoyed glance and the slightest roll of her eyes before speaking to Hermione and Ron.   
“It was a few months ago,” she said, the lie forming effortlessly on her tongue. “I ran into Harry when I was waiting for Draco outside of detention. We got to talking, and realized we had more in common than we thought. One thing led to another, and now here we are.” Hermione opened her mouth, most likely to ask another question before Parkinson interrupted. “How about you two? Harry hasn’t told me the story of how you and Ron got together.”  
Harry grinned at her brilliance. The only thing that would stop Hermione from asking anything else about their relationship was to get her to start talking about something else. He excused himself from the table to go fetch the group some Butterbeers.   
They stayed in the Three Broomsticks for about an hour before deciding to go to Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes. As soon as they arrived, Ron was whisked away by George, who was eager to start teaching him the ropes. Ron had written to George about his decision to join the store once he had graduated, and his brother seemed just as excited about the idea as Ron was. Parkinson wandered off to admire the Pygmy Puffs, leaving Harry and Hermione to themselves.  
“Harry,” Hermione leaned over and whispered in Harry’s ear. “A word?”  
Harry nodded and followed her into a small storage room in the back of the store. She closed the door behind them, blocking out the sound of excited children, and turned towards him with a frown.   
“Hermione?” Harry questioned. He wasn’t sure why his friend was acting so strangely.   
“You and Pansy aren’t dating, are you?” she asked suddenly, though her question was more of a statement. It took Harry a full minute to register what she had said, and when he finally did, he knew it was too late to deny it. He slumped down on the floor and ran a hand through his hair.   
“How’d you know?”  
“It’s pretty obvious.” She sat down beside him, nudging his leg with her knee. “For one thing, your get-together story was pretty vague. Pansy lives for drama and gossip. Given that she was supposedly cheating on Draco with you, I would say that’s a fairly dramatic story. Her downplaying it makes no sense.   
“Secondly, I’ve caught you calling her ‘Parkinson’ on more than one occasion. Boyfriends don’t call their girlfriends by their last names. And most importantly,” she bit back a laugh. “You two have about as much chemistry as a rock and a Hippogriff, which is to say, not a lot.”  
Harry chuckled at this and Hermione joined in. Silence overtook them when their laughing had ceased.   
“If I guess who it is, and I’m right, you tell me, correct?” Hermione asked out-of-the blue. Harry sighed.   
“You’re not going to figure out who it is.”  
“You underestimate me,” she responded with a dangerous glint in her eye. He swallowed nervously; despite his insistence otherwise, he had a feeling she knew.  
“Fine then. Go ahead.” He gave her a weak smile.  
“Malfoy,” she said softly, but surely. Harry didn’t gasp in shock or keel over like he thought he might. He didn’t say a word, instead choosing to look Hermione in the eye and give her the slightest of nods as his answer. “I’ll be honest, that was a surprising revelation.”  
“I didn’t think you’d be able to figure it out,” Harry admitted.   
“To be fair, I am the brightest witch of our age.” She smiled warmly and scooted closer to Harry, resting her head on his shoulder. “Why didn’t you tell us?” Harry snorted.   
“You hate him.”   
“We don’t.” He felt Hermione shake her head. “Ron might think he does, but he doesn’t, not really. He’d come around eventually. Like I said, we only want you to be happy. If Malfoy makes you happy, who are we to dispute that?”   
“The press would have a field day,” Harry offered.  
“You’ve dealt with worse.” Hermione shrugged. “Besides, I doubt your love life would make the front page; it’s better material for a gossip column.”  
“Draco’s parents can’t find out.” If Hermione was at all surprised by Harry’s use of Draco’s first name, she didn’t show it. Instead, she glanced up at him slightly, urging him to continue. “They, or at least Lucius, wouldn’t accept it.”  
“You don’t know that.”  
“He seems pretty sure of it,” Harry stated. “You’ve met Lucius, do you really think he’d be happy that his son was dating a boy? Much less Harry Potter?”  
“You can’t hide this forever,” she pointed out, and Harry found himself wishing that her thought didn’t make so much sense. “What are you going to do?”  
“I don’t know,” he said honestly.   
“Well then, that’s something you need to figure out.”


	33. Something To Tell You

Chapter Thirty-Three

On Sunday evening, Harry arrived at Number Twelve Grimmauld Place. Andromeda greeted him, a blue-haired baby bundled in her arms.   
“Harry!” She walked towards him and pulled him into a hug, which was slightly awkward given the fact that she was still holding Teddy. “It’s so good to see you.” She pulled away, her brown eyes warm and comforting.   
“It’s good to see you too,” Harry said, smiling back. He leaned down and cooed at Teddy. “How’s the best little boy in the whole world?” Andromeda laughed.   
“He’s doing just fine. Better than fine actually; his hair is blue, so he must be happy to see you,” Andromeda answered for the child. She glanced behind Harry towards the door. “I thought Narcissa and Draco were coming?”   
“They are. They’re arriving tomorrow morning.” Harry didn’t bring up Bellatrix’s will reading. He had a feeling Andromeda somehow already knew, and he didn’t want to bring up her older sister’s death. “Can I hold him?” He changed the subject, looking down at Teddy.   
“Here,” Andromeda said, handing the bundle to Harry. Harry carefully balanced Teddy in his arms, rocking the child gently. His eyes flitted around the house, cataloging the changes since the last time he’d been there.   
When the Order of the Phoenix had first started using Grimmauld Place as their headquarters, they had done their best to fix the place up, but still left something to be desired. The furniture was old and worn, the floorboards creaked, and of course there was the shrieking painting of Walburga Black. Harry had certainly lived in worse places (after all, he had slept in a closet for the first almost eleven years of his life), but Sirius’ old house was far from homey.   
Now, Harry hardly recognized the place. The ancient wallpaper had been torn down and replaced with a fresh coat of pale blue paint, and this, along with the fact that all the clutter had been cleared away, helped Harry to realize how spacious Grimmauld Place really was. He glanced down the hallway and saw that the portrait of Walburga Black had been removed; how Andromeda managed that, he’d never know. He walked down the hallway into the dining room, which was completely transformed.   
The floorboards had been replaced with plush grey carpeting, and the dark wood table was replaced by a marble one. The room no longer looked so formal or severe.   
“Wow,” he breathed. Andromeda beamed.   
“It took a while, but I haven’t had much else to do, besides looking after Teddy,” she nodded at the baby, who was now fast asleep in Harry’s arms.   
“It’s fantastic.”  
Andromeda had Harry sit down at the table while she fixed dinner for the two of them. He offered to help several times, but everytime, she insisted that he relax and tell her about his school year so far.   
He spoke of his new teachers, the Quidditch season, and Sirius’ diary. Andromeda perked up at the mention of her cousin, and started asking questions as soon as she sat, handing Harry his plate.   
“Did he write about the Halloween prank on the Slytherins?” she asked enthusiastically. It took Harry a moment to answer, seeing as his mouth was full of delicious food.   
“No, he didn’t,” Harry said, shaking his head. “What was it?”  
Andromeda went on to describe what sounded like the most elaborate scheme that had ever been executed. Apparently, during Sirius’ sixth year, he and the marauders had somehow managed to get enough of Dumbledore’s hair to brew a batch of Polyjuice Potion that was big enough to transform the entirety of Slytherin. Why Sirius had neglected to mention this in his diary, Harry wasn’t sure, but he had a feeling he was scared to admit he was the perpetrator of such a large-scale prank in case anyone ever found the book.   
Once their laughter over Sirius’ antics had died down, Harry asked a question that he’d been itching to know ever since he’d gotten his hands on the diary.   
“Did you know about Sirius and…” he trailed off. It didn’t make any sense to keep it a secret anymore; both Sirius and Remus were dead. But somehow, Harry felt like he might be betraying his godfather if he revealed their relationship.   
“Remus?” Andromeda finished for him. Harry nodded, slightly surprised. “I did. After he ran away from home, we wrote to each other almost every week, until he was taken to Azkaban.”  
Harry nodded, not sure what else to say.   
“I have a question for you,” Andromeda began, her tone simultaneously gentle and stern in the way that only a mother could manage. Harry sat up in his chair. “I have to ask about Draco.”  
Harry blinked, feigning innocence. He had a feeling he knew what she was trying to ask about, but he didn’t want to make it easy for her.   
“What about him?”  
“I’m very happy he’s choosing to stay with us for the holidays, and I’m overjoyed that he’s bringing Cissa,” Andromeda smiled at the thought of seeing her sister. “But I do have to wonder what brought you two so close? I always thought you two weren’t friends.”  
“Er-well…” Something about Andromeda’s motherly gaze filled Harry with an overwhelming urge to tell her everything. “He’s not my friend,” he blurted out suddenly, and immediately realized that was not the right thing to say. “I mean… he’s not… not just a friend.” Harry felt his face burn as he spoke and he couldn’t quite look Andromeda in the eye. Consciously, he knew that she would accept him no matter what, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t mute the mocking voices in his head telling him that she would turn him away. “Sorry,” he found himself apologizing, and tried to clear his throat as his voice started to become thick with oncoming tears.   
“You have nothing to apologize for,” Andromeda reassured him, getting out of her chair and standing behind Harry, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and pulling him into a hug. Harry’s head began to pound with the effort it took to refrain from crying. “Does he make you happy?” she asked. He didn’t want to speak, so he nodded. She smiled, coming around to face him. “Then I’m glad you found each other.”  
He reached out and hugged her, and they stayed like that for what felt like hours. She didn’t pull away when tears started falling onto the back of her shirt, or when Harry started sniffling on her shoulder. She rubbed his back and murmured comforting words in his ear, and for just a little while, Harry let himself imagine that he was embracing his mother.   
When he finally pulled away, wiping at his eyes with his sleeve, he realized that, in a way, Andromeda was like a mother to him. Just like Molly was, or how Sirius and Remus and Arthur had been, and were like fathers to him.   
Harry helped clean up the table after dinner, despite Andromeda’s insistence otherwise, and then headed upstairs to unpack his things. He decided to stay in Sirius’ old room, where everything had remained relatively untouched. Obviously, Andromeda had taken care to clean the room and polish all the surfaces, but the Gryffindor banner and photos of bikini-clad Muggle girls still lined the walls just as Harry had remembered. A familiar pang of grief shot through Harry, and he longed to feel close to his godfather.  
He reached into his bag and retrieved Sirius’ diary, turning to the next entry.   
January 1st, 1977  
Dear Moony (I’ve decided that I will give this not-diary to you as a wedding gift. I also fully realize that this makes me a sappy fool and I don't care. I also realize that technically speaking, we cannot get legally married, but seeing as a wedding is essentially just a giant party with more emotions involved, I don’t see why we can’t have one),  
James and Peter know.   
Quite honestly, it went much better than I expected, although I was expecting anything terrible to happen. It also didn’t happen quite in the way Remus planned, but then again, he does lack my flair for the dramatic. You should’ve seen his face…   
In seconds, Sirius’ room spun out of focus, replaced by the sixth year Gryffindor boy’s dormitory. James and Peter were sitting on one bed, facing Remus and Sirius, who were sitting on another. Remus was nervously fidgeting with the edge of his sweater, picking at an unraveling strand. James was watching him expectantly, his foot tapping in impatience. Peter kept awkwardly glancing between Remus and James, as if he couldn’t decide who he was supposed to be paying attention to.   
Sirius, on the other hand, looked as relaxed as he could possibly be. He was sprawled on the bed, his back leaning against the edge of the bedpost, forcing Remus to sit at the very end of the bed. He nonchalantly blew the front pieces of his hair out of his face, and Remus shot him a death glare.   
“James… Peter…” Remus glanced between his two friends, and then shot a look towards Sirius. “We have something that we need to tell you.”  
“Okay…” James said apprehensively. He sat up and adjusted his glasses, which had started to slip down his nose.   
“You see, we… Sirius and I…” His eyes flitted from Sirius to James to Peter as he stammered. “Well, er- the thing is… I realize this may sound a bit odd, but- the truth is…” He lowered his eyes to the ground, taking a shaky breath. As he opened his mouth, Sirius butted in.   
“We’re gay,” he stated casually, sitting up and throwing an arm around Remus’ shoulder. Remus’ expression of shock was quickly replaced by one of subtle rage as he pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and his forefinger.   
“Thank you Sirius,” he said through gritted teeth, removing Sirius’ arm from his vicinity. “That is so incredibly helpful.”  
“Sarcasm?” Sirius laughed. Remus did not.   
“Sarcasm.” He began to turn back to James and Peter, but whirled on Sirius again at the last moment. “And that’s not strictly true; you’re gay, I’m not.”  
“Well, you’re a little bit gay-” Sirius started, but was interrupted by Peter.   
“Still here.” Peter shifted uncomfortably on the bed while James just stared at his two friends. “What?”  
“Sirius and I…” Remus started, but couldn’t find it in himself to finish. Sirius locked eyes with him and gave him a small, reassuring nod, which seemed to give him all the courage he needed. “We’re together. And not just in the friends kind of way, but in a more than friends kind of way. In a… well, I’m sure you know what I mean.” At this point, Remus had started to speak so fast that Harry was having trouble comprehending exactly what he was saying. “And I understand that it’s hard to believe; it is a bit unbelievable, and I know this complicates things because all four of us are friends, and that’s why we didn’t tell you at first, because we didn’t want to risk ruining things in our group if this wasn’t going to last, but I mean, this isn’t something that’s just going to end-  
“Remus?” Sirius placed his hand on Remus’ shoulder.  
“Yeah?” Remus gulped.  
“Rambling.”  
“Right.” Remus nodded. “Sorry. I’ll stop talking now.”  
Tense silence filled the room. Remus seemed to be holding as still as humanly possible; Harry was sure he was actually holding his breath. James looked like he was in deep thought, and Peter watched him carefully. Sirius’ gaze kept flitting between the two friends sitting opposite him.   
“Say something, please,” Sirius blurted out finally, and Harry was relieved that someone had decided to say something.  
“That…” Peter began, looking away from James. Remus and Sirius seemed surprised that he was the first of the two to speak up. “Actually makes quite a bit of sense.”  
“James?” Sirius urged, and the messy haired boy looked up at him for a moment before he let out a breath and smiled.   
“Thank God!” he laughed, ruffling the front of his hair. Remus and Sirius exchanged equally confused glances. “I thought you two were planning some kind of giant prank on me!”  
“What?” Sirius and Remus said in unison. Peter also gave James a bewildered look. James leaned back and launched into his explanation.  
“You know, because you were always conspiring together, holing yourselves up in the dorms all alone with the door locked…” His words trailed off as a mixture of horror and amusement dawned on his face. “Oh God, that’s what you were doing up here?” Remus turned bright red while Sirius burst out laughing.   
“Er- I… well, see… we-” Remus stuttered, looking to Sirius for help, which probably wasn’t a good idea, because then Sirius casually said:  
“Yeah, pretty much.”  
“Sirius!” The tawny haired boy shouted, his eyes widening.  
“Yes love?” Sirius replied, a smirk playing on his lips. The use of the pet name did not go unnoticed by James.  
“I’m sorry, love?” He asked, his eyebrows raised.   
“Well, they are together.” They all turned to Peter, who shrugged. “I’d assume they have pet names for each other.”  
“But that’s what I call Lily!” James protested.  
“To be fair, we got together before you and Evans did, so I think ‘love’ belongs to us,” Sirius muttered, and James scoffed.   
“To you,” Remus corrected. “I don’t call you that.” James smiled mischievously and leaned towards Remus.   
“What do you call him?” he asked teasingly. Remus glared at him and stayed silent. Unfortunately, Sirius refused to do the same.   
“It varies from day to day,” Sirius mused, enjoying the annoyed and embarrassed expression on Remus’ face. “Sometimes it’s ‘Gorgeous’ or ‘Dear’, one time he called me ‘Angel’; I particularly liked that-”  
“Shut up!” Remus snapped. He sighed and buried his head in his hands. The rest of the marauders didn’t speak. After about a minute, he looked up and said weakly: “So, to summarize, Sirius and I are together. Any questions?” Sirius’ hand shot up. “Not you,” Remus said, barely even looking in his boyfriend’s direction. “Yes, Peter?”  
“Are you two being safe?” Sirius cocked his head in a way that reminded Harry so much of a dog that he nearly laughed. Remus and James looked equally as confused. “You know, when you…” It took them a few seconds to understand what he was asking, but once they did, James started laughing hysterically, Remus paled, and Sirius groaned.   
“Merlin, Pete really?” Sirius grumbled, sighing.   
“It’s a legitimate question!” Peter protested. James was still laughing maniacally, resulting in him falling off the bed and landing on his arm with a small ‘ouch.’  
“I hope it’s broken.” Remus smiled at James, gesturing to his arm, and then turned to Peter. “Yes, Pete, we’re safe.”  
“So that means…” James wheezed between laughs. “You two have…”  
“Yup, it’s pretty fantastic,” Sirius raised his eyebrows and wiggled them suggestively. Remus closed his eyes and breathed in sharply. James started cackling.   
“Oh God, someone kill me,” he muttered under his breath, rubbing his temples.   
“Do you not think it was fantastic?” Sirius teased, nudging Remus in the side.   
“Must you always insist on being this difficult?”  
“‘Fraid so Moony. It’s who I am.”  
“Any further questions?” Remus turned away from Sirius and addressed the group, so clearly done with everything about this conversation. James sat up from the floor, wiping away tears that had formed from him laughing so hard. None of them said anything more, so Remus nodded and stood up, brushing off his pants. “Good. I’m going to the library to study.”   
“Just studying?” James added suggestively, smirking at Sirius.   
“Unfortunately, yes,” Sirius pretended to sigh while watching Remus wistfully. “All he does in that library is pour over his books. If only he gave me the same attention.” He placed the back of his hand on his forehead and fell onto the bed dramatically. “It’s cruel, really, to deny me such simple-”  
“Leaving now.” Remus’ voice was followed by the sound of a door shutting.   
The memory blurred out of focus with the sound of James, Sirius, and Peter laughing. Harry closed the book and sighed. If only it were that simple with him and Draco.


	34. Happy Christmas Harry

Chapter Thirty-Four

Harry was in the middle of eating breakfast the next morning when Draco and Narcissa arrived. He raced to the door and was greeted by Narcissa. He’d only ever seen her dressed in black, but as she stood before him, she was dressed in a silver, high-necked dress. Her previously waist-length ice blonde hair had been cut into a bob that was still sharp, but made her look less severe. In fact, with her lighter clothes and shorter hair, Harry could see the resemblance between her and her sister.   
Harry hadn’t even had a chance to say hello before Andromeda pushed past him, staring at her sister.   
“Hello Andie,” Narcissa said with a weak smile. She folded her hands in front of her in a way that was all too composed.   
“Cissa,” Andromeda almost whispered. Harry saw the beginnings of tears form in her eyes.   
“Thank you for inviting Draco and I for the Holidays,” Narcissa’s words cut through the silence. She spoke quietly, her trembling voice betraying her composed body. “It is more than I deserve. I cannot even begin to tell you how sorry I am for-”  
Narcissa was cut off as Andromeda pulled her into a tight hug. Harry heard her whisper:  
“I’ve missed you so much.”  
The blonde took a second to react, but soon her arms were wrapped around her sister. They broke apart a moment later, tears streaming down Andromeda’s face.   
“There’s so much-”  
“I know,” Andromeda cut her off, smiling warmly, but sternly. “We have a lot to talk about. But we have all the time in the world.” She started towards the kitchen before turning around. “Do you still take sugar in your tea, Cissy?” Narcissa laughed and followed her down the hall.   
“You know me, I have an incurable sweet tooth.”  
Harry watched them go off into the kitchen, and when he turned around, he came face to face with Draco, who had been hiding behind his mother the whole time. Harry heart leaped out of his chest as he locked eyes with Draco, but then plummeted when he got a good look at the Slytherin boy.   
“Harry-”  
“What happened to your face?” The words slipped out of Harry’s mouth before he could stop them.   
The right side of Draco’s face was untouched, his porcelain skin as flawless as ever, but there was a large, purplish bruise spread across his left cheekbone. Harry found it hard to breathe as he reached out his hand, his fingers brushing against the bruise. Draco grimaced slightly as Harry made contact, but he didn’t flinch away. Harry breathed in sharply when he traced over what looked like an indentation of a ring on his skin. He felt like throwing up when he realized why the marking looked so familiar to him: it was in the shape of the Malfoy family ring.   
Harry suddenly remembered that they’d been standing in the entryway for a while and he pulled his hand away from Draco’s face. He gently took his hand and led him upstairs without another word.   
When they reached Sirius’ room, he gestured for Draco to sit down and closed the door. The door clicked shut, and Harry stayed like that, his hand on the doorknob, his back to Draco for what felt like a long time.   
He finally turned around, and what he saw just about broke him.   
Draco wasn’t looking at him, instead he kept his eyes downcast and to the side. Despite the giant mark on his cheek, his face was as composed as ever, if not more so. From the waist up, he looked as if he could’ve been made of stone. When he folded his hands over his lap, Harry was briefly reminded of his mother, but unlike Narcissa, Draco couldn’t seem to keep his hands steady. They trembled, just slightly enough that no one would spot it if they weren’t watching carefully.   
Harry walked over to the bed and sat beside Draco, taking his hands into his own. He caressed the back of Draco’s hand with his thumb and let his eyes wander over the rest of Draco’s face and body. He was relieved to find no other signs of injury. He lifted one of Draco’s hands to his mouth and pressed a gentle kiss to his knuckles, waiting for Draco to speak first.   
It took a few minutes, but eventually, Draco cleared his throat and started to speak.   
“They know,” he said. His voice came out soft and shaky, barely above a whisper. “They know about us.” He looked up at Harry expectantly, awaiting some kind of reaction, but Harry had none to give. Draco was hurt; he couldn’t care less who knew about their relationship. The blonde swallowed thickly and continued when all he got from Harry was a small nod.   
“It was after the reading and… he just kept saying all of these-these awful things. About the War, about Hogwarts, about you, about me… I just couldn’t keep out of it. I should’ve just stayed quiet.” Harry gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. “But I… I just told him. I told him everything. I don’t even remember why I did it. I think I just wanted to shock him into silence.”  
“Who?” Harry asked quietly, thought he was pretty sure he already knew the answer.   
“My father,” Draco breathed. Harry tried his best to keep his expression neutral; he didn’t want Draco to think that his rage was at all directed at him. “It worked, at first. He stopped talking,” he spoke, still avoiding Harry’s prying eyes. “But then…” he trailed off, unable to complete his sentence.   
“He hit you,” Harry finished for him, trying to keep his voice as gentle as possible. Draco closed his eyes and nodded. “Has he ever…” Harry couldn’t finish; the thought that this wasn’t the first time this had happened made him sick.  
“Once, just once,” Draco muttered, barely audible. “After I… when he got back from Azkaban and he found out Snape had been the one to kill Dumbledore.”   
“Draco-”  
“I’m fine,” he said curtly, his eyes still locked on the ground. Harry refused to take that for an answer. He cupped the side of Draco’s face, turning him so he was forced to look Harry in the eyes.   
“Look at me,” he whispered, bringing his other hand up so he was cradling Draco’s face. He made sure to keep his fingers away from the bruise; he didn’t want to cause Draco any more pain. “You’re not fine. It’s okay to not be fine. You don’t have to be fine for me.”  
Draco shut his eyes and shuddered. Harry could tell he was holding back.   
“Please,” he pleaded. “Let me help you. Just let me be there for you.”   
That was all it took. Draco’s arms suddenly shot out and wrapped around Harry, pulling him close. The blonde buried his face into Harry’s shoulder, sobs wracking his body. Harry held on as tight as he could, one hand looped around Draco’s back while the other stroked his hair. Finally, the facade that the Slytherin had kept up for so long was breaking down, shattering in front of Harry’s eyes. He didn’t know what else he could do besides rock Draco and mumble incoherent words that he hoped were comforting.   
Draco pulled away and wiped a tear from his face, accidentally running his fingers over his bruise and wincing. He glanced down at Harry’s shoulder.  
“I got your sweater wet,” he commented absentmindedly while he sniffed.   
“That’s alright.” Harry smiled.   
“Wasn’t an apology,” Draco mused, though his smirk was less effective when there were tears in his eyes. “It’s hideous. I honestly think the tears are an improvement.”  
“Hey!” Harry protested jokingly, still keeping his tone soft. “Molly gave this to me.” Draco chuckled.  
“She’s leaving him,” the blonde said suddenly. Harry patiently waited for him to continue. “My mother. I think she’s been thinking about it for a long time, but when he… it was the last straw.” Harry just nodded. He wanted to say he was glad, but he knew it couldn’t possibly be that simple for Draco; Lucius was his father.  
Draco rested his head on Harry’s shoulder and sighed. For about an hour, no more words passed between them.   
“Hermione knows,” Harry said finally, remembering her discovery in the days before.   
“I figured she would piece it together eventually.” Draco shrugged, lifting his head up. “After all, I’m second in our class only to her.”  
“I want to tell the others.” Harry hadn’t realized how much those words were true until he spoke them aloud; he was sick of hiding. He was finally happy, shouldn’t he be allowed to share the reason for that happiness with the rest of the world.   
“Are you sure?” Draco asked cautiously, lacing his fingers with Harry’s.   
“Only if you want to as well,” Harry clarified. Draco didn’t say anything for a moment, considering.   
“I do.” He nodded. “The only reason I wanted to keep things quiet in the first place was because of my parents. Now that they know, I don’t see the point in hiding anymore.”  
There was a knock at the door.  
“Come in,” Harry said. Andromeda peeked her head through the door, smiling at the two boys.   
“Why don’t you two come downstairs? Cissa and I are starting on lunch and we need someone to watch Teddy while we work.” She glanced in Draco’s direction and her eyes softened. “And I’ll get you some more salve for that this evening.” She gestured towards his cheek. He flushed slightly, but nodded, and she didn’t ask any questions. Obviously, Narcissa had already told her everything.   
“We’ll be right down.”  
Draco followed Harry downstairs and into the kitchen, where Narcissa was leaning over a pot of some sort of steaming soup. Andromeda was holding a sleeping, purple-haired Teddy in her arms. She handed the child to Harry, and he gestured for Draco to come with him into the living room.   
He sat on the couch, cradling Teddy in his arms. Draco sat next to him, watching the baby as if it were about to attack him.   
“He doesn’t bite,” Harry said, laughing at Draco’s caution. “Well, sometimes he does, but he doesn’t really have teeth yet, so it doesn’t hurt.” Draco still looked slightly wary, but he smiled. “Do you want to hold him?”  
“I don’t know…”   
“Here.” Harry carefully passed Teddy over to Draco, showing him how to position his hands to support the infant’s head. “See? You have nothing to worry about.”  
“He’s so small,” Draco breathed.   
“Small but mighty,” Harry chuckled. As if on cue, Teddy’s eyes blinked open, staring up at Draco. “Teddy, meet Draco. Draco, Teddy.”  
“Hello,” the blonde whispered. “Nice to meet you.” It struck Harry as odd that Draco spoke to the child as if he were speaking to any other person; he didn’t use any babytalk. Teddy peered up into Draco’s smoky grey eyes, and his hair turned blue.   
“He likes you,” Harry commented, smiling. When Draco looked skeptical, Harry explained. “Blue means happy.”  
“Huh.”  
The rest of the day passed by quicker than Harry expected. It felt weird to not have to hide his relationship with Draco, but in a good way. At first, Narcissa bombarded Harry with questions; she wanted to know everything about him. He might’ve felt intimidated or like she was sizing him up, but she had the same motherly gaze Andromeda possessed, and Harry knew she was only curious.   
After Harry had been thoroughly interrogated, the Black sisters regaled Draco and Harry with stories of their youth. They learned that Sirius wasn’t the only prankster in the family, he was just the only one who ever got caught. Narcissa explained that family reunions were not nearly as dull as people made them out to be, and that she and Sirius had gotten into numerous dance battles in the company of their younger relatives.   
Andromeda spoke of how she and Ted first met, and how she left home. Narcissa explained that their family was never the same after she left, and how she always felt like she was missing a part of herself.   
They all went to bed late that night, and when they awoke the next morning, they began their Christmas preparations. Seeing as it was already Christmas Eve, they didn’t have much time.   
Harry and Draco spent the day alternating between decorating and looking after Teddy, not having any time to themselves until that evening.   
They were sitting on the floor by the Christmas tree, the hearth roaring with fire. Narcissa and Andromeda went off to bed, taking Teddy with them. Harry was leaning against Draco’s side, leaning his head against the blonde’s shoulder.   
“We’re alone now,” Draco pointed out, tilting Harry’s face up. He used his chin to gesture up the stairs where Narcissa and Andromeda had disappeared.   
“Finally.” Harry grinned and closed the gap between them. He realized he hadn’t gotten the chance to kiss Draco in over a week, and he’d desperately missed it.   
The way Draco’s teeth gently grazed against his bottom lip, or the way his hands tangled in his hair, or the way his body pressed against Harry’s: it drove him crazy and made him desperate for more. Harry moved his hand to Draco’s shoulder and pushed the blonde down so he was laying with his back on the ground. He climbed on top of him, his legs straddling Draco’s body. Draco smirked up at him.   
“What are you doing?” he asked teasingly, his voice slightly husky.   
“This.”   
Harry leaned down and began peppering kisses down Draco’s neck. He reached the curve of his collarbone and the blonde emitted a small gasp, so Harry attacked the spot mercilessly.   
“You prick,” Draco remarked, breathing heavily. “You know I don’t want to have to wear a turtleneck tomorrow.”   
“Too bad,” Harry retorted. His mouth moved back up to Draco’s lips, which he kissed hungrily. His hands instinctively fluttered to the edge of Draco’s shirt and Harry froze when the blonde beneath him stiffened.   
With the exception of the one time in the Infirmary, Harry hadn’t seen Draco without his shirt off. He knew about the silver scars that marked his torso, and he knew he was the reason they were there. Harry fiddled with the bottom of Draco’s shirt, the fabric playing between his fingertips.   
“Can I?” he asked. At the wary look in Draco’s eye, he added: “It’s okay if you don’t want to, I understand.” He relaxed slightly.   
“I don’t think…” Draco trailed off when Harry nodded and moved his hands away from Draco’s chest.   
“That’s okay.” Harry smiled at him, and let his right hand go to cup Draco’s face instead.   
They kissed by the fireplace until neither boy could feel his lips any longer. After that, they cuddled by the tree, watching the lights sparkle until the clock struck midnight.   
“Happy Christmas Draco,” Harry said warmly, nuzzling his nose into Draco’s cheek. Draco smiled down at him.   
“Happy Christmas Harry.”


	35. A Good Start

Chapter Thirty-Five

Harry was pacing around his compartment, every passing minute feeling like an hour. Before today, he’d never really understood Ron’s urge to stress-eat, but now, after ten chocolate frogs, he was starting to get the appeal.   
The train rattled along the tracks, a view of an icy lake stretching outside the window. If Harry hadn’t been so preoccupied by his thoughts, he might’ve appreciated the sight.  
Over the break, Harry and Draco had agreed that it was time that the rest of the world knew of their relationship. It was exhausting to keep everything a secret. Harry had only one condition; before anyone else found out, he had to tell Ron. To Harry, it wouldn’t feel right telling the rest of the world about his new boyfriend when his best friend had no clue.   
Unfortunately, coming out to the rest of the wizarding world somehow seemed like a much less daunting task than coming out to Ron. So when Harry ran into Ron and Hermione at King’s Cross as they boarded the train, he may have panicked and put on his invisibility cloak to avoid being seen before finding an empty compartment to hide in.   
Some Gryffindor I am, Harry thought to himself as he stopped pacing to gloomily look out the window. The train had passed the frozen lake, and now they were moving through a mountain pass.   
It wasn’t as though Harry was scared Ron wouldn’t accept the fact that he was into boys; after all, Ron had barely batted an eye when Ginny asked Luna to the ball. But the fact that Harry was dating Draco changed things. Ron hated the Slytherin with a fiery passion. Maybe it was because Ron had always been quick to hold a grudge, or maybe it was the way Draco had previously gone after his family, but there was no animosity lost between the blonde and the ginger.   
Harry didn’t hear the knock at the door at first, and by the time he registered it, he knew it was too late to hide under his Invisibility Cloak. He turned around, expecting to see that Ron or Hermione had found him, but luckily, he was greeted instead by Luna. He gave an unexpected wave and she stepped inside.   
“Hello Harry,” she said. The sound of chatter and laughter faded away as she shut the door behind her.   
“Hey Luna.” Harry sat down, hoping his smile was hiding his internal anxiety.   
“Why are you hiding from your friends?” She sat down next to him, her magazine tucked under her arm.   
“That obvious, huh?”  
“I saw you pull out your Invisibility Cloak after you spotted them at the station,” she explained. Her stare was inquisitive and piercing, and it was only a matter of time before Harry knew he had to give her some sort of answer.   
“I have to tell them something. Well actually,” he began to correct himself. “I have to tell Ron something. Something… important. And I’m…”  
“Scared?” Luna finished for him. Harry nodded.   
He shifted uncomfortably, the only sound in the compartment the rumble of the wheels against the train tracks. Luna seemed like she was considering something.   
“Does this have to do with the fact that you and Draco are together?” Harry was so shocked he choked on air and started to cough violently. Luna patted his back until he was finished. Then, he stared up at her, blinking imploringly.   
“How did you… I mean, did Draco…?”  
“He didn’t tell me anything.” Luna shook her head. “I’m just observant. I’m good at seeing things others don’t see, or things others refuse to see.”   
Harry folded his hands in his lap, thinking. Luna waited patiently for him to say something, but Harry couldn’t seem to speak.   
“You shouldn’t be afraid of telling Ron.” Luna said in a soft tone of voice.   
“Wow, thank you for that piece of advice,” Harry remarked sarcastically. He knew he’d regret being snappy with Luna later, but right now, he just needed to let off a little steam. “So incredibly helpful. All my fears have now vanished.”  
Luna cocked her head for a moment, and then nodded, finally understanding that Harry wasn’t actually thanking her.   
“Ron loves you, Harry. He’s your best friend. All he wants is for you to be happy, to find peace with yourself.”   
“You’re right.” Harry sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. He glanced at Luna and mumbled: “Sorry for being snarky at you earlier.”  
“That’s alright,” she responded, her voice lilting. She stood up and brushed her pants off. “Good luck, Harry.”  
Luna quietly exited the carriage, leaving Harry alone with his thoughts.   
When the train pulled to a stop, Harry waited a few minutes before stepping out onto the station. His feet landed on the pavement and immediately he heard people calling his name.   
He glanced up and saw Hermione and Ron waving him over. Taking a deep breath, he managed to put a smile on his face and stride over to them.   
“How were your Holidays?” Ron asked, bumping him with his elbow. They walked over to the Thestral-drawn carriages and took a seat. Unlike the last time they’d boarded the carts, none of the students seemed bothered by the skeleton horses.  
Harry felt a twinge of guilt at Ron’s question. Of course, he’d written to both his friends over the break, but he had to be much more vague in his letters to Ron to avoid mentioning Draco or Narcissa staying at Grimmauld Place.   
“Good,” he said. Ron waited for him to elaborate. “Er- Andromeda’s doing well, and so is Teddy. He’s grown a lot since summer.”  
“That is generally what babies do,” Hermione joked.  
“Did you get mum’s gift?” Ron said, not waiting for Harry to answer. “She tried a different font this year, for the letters on the sweaters, and I think it’s bloody awful. It’s bad enough that it has to be maroon, now it looks like a girl went overboard with her calligraphy quill.”  
“Yeah, I got it.” Harry chuckled. Molly had attempted to write the family’s initials in cursive this year, but obviously Harry wasn’t as opposed to the idea as Ron was.   
As their cart fell silent, Harry realized now might be the time to tell Ron everything. The ride to Hogwarts would give them enough time to talk and it was only him, Harry, and Hermione in the carriage-  
“Mind if we join you?” Harry’s idea was dashed as Luna, Neville, and Ginny loaded themselves into the cart just before it started moving towards the castle. Harry slumped in his seat, but still gave a friendly nod to the trio.   
Soon enough, each of them was describing their Christmas’ in so much detail that they didn’t seem to notice Harry brooding in the corner. In a way, he was relieved that he didn’t have to tell Ron yet, but on the other hand, he just wanted to get it over with.   
Hermione tore her attention away from Neville’s retelling of his disasterful Christmas and glanced concernedly at Harry.   
You okay? she mouthed.   
I’m fine, he responded, his eyes flitting in Ron’s direction.   
Hermione nodded, understanding. Harry had told Hermione that he and Draco were planning on coming out to everyone at Hogwarts once they returned, starting with Ron.   
She reached across the carriage and gave his hand a small squeeze. He smiled back at her, appreciating the gesture.   
They eventually reached Hogwarts and trudged up to Gryffindor tower, hauling up all their belongings. Harry and the rest of the boys in his dorm spent a good hour unpacking while they continued to discuss their holiday breaks.   
Apparently, Neville’s grandma was convinced that it was time that he learned how to prepare a proper Christmas meal, and she let him cook everything on his own. Given Neville’s limited skills in Potions, Harry didn’t have to guess how well that turned out.   
“I’m not sure how the turkey managed to get on the ceiling,” Neville mused as he finished his story.   
Seamus and Dean’s families spent the break together, and according to them, the only interesting thing that happened was a massive snowball fight on Christmas Eve. Ron had already detailed most of his break to Harry through letters, but he didn’t mind hearing about it again.   
George had decided to give everyone gag gifts that year, so the entire Weasley family and Hermione spent all of Christmas with bright purple hair. Harry found himself glad that he chose this year of all years to skip on Christmas at the Burrow.   
After they’d all unpacked, Harry excused himself and left Gryffindor tower in search of a particular blonde Slytherin. He’d decided that he’d tell Ron tonight, after dinner, but he needed some encouragement first.   
Harry knocked on the door to the Slytherin common room, half expecting to be hexed when someone opened the door. Luckily, when the door did swing open, he came face to face with Zabini.   
“Zabini,” he greeted, nodding. He glanced behind the bored Slytherin and let his eyes wander around the room. Everything still looked pretty much the same from the last time Harry had been there, but the room did seem a lot smaller. Harry figured that had to do with that fact that Harry had been twelve the last time he set foot in this room.   
“Harry.” Harry was slightly surprised by the use of his first name and his eyebrows shot up.   
“Oh, please,” Zabini said, rolling his eyes. “You’re dating my best friend, don’t you think it’s about time we drop the whole last name thing?”  
“Right.” Harry nodded awkwardly. “Blaise.”  
“I assume you’re here for Draco?”   
“Er- yes.”  
“Wait here, I’ll go get him.” Blaise turned and shut the door, leaving Harry waiting outside. It was only a few minutes before Draco came down.   
“Long time no see,” Draco said sarcastically as he stepped outside the doors. “It’s been a whole…” Draco began to count on his long, elegant fingers. “What, four hours since our last conversation?”  
“That’s four hours too long,” Harry retorted. Without speaking, both boys had started to walk upstairs towards the Great Hall. It was close to dinnertime, but Harry knew he had to see Draco before then.   
“Is there a reason you decided to grace the Slytherin dungeons with your presence?” the blonde mused, letting his fingers brush against Harry’s while they walked.   
“Your common room is smaller than I remember,” Harry commented absentmindedly, letting their hands lace together. He kept his eyes peeled for any incoming students, but there weren’t any.   
“You’ve been in the Slytherin common room?” Draco sounded slightly surprised, but not all that alarmed. Harry supposed with all the antics he and his friends got up to, it couldn’t be that shocking.   
“Once,” Harry admitted. “Ron and I snuck in using Polyjuice Potion.” He chose to leave out the part about them disguising themselves as Crabbe and Goyle to figure out if Draco was the heir to Slytherin; that was a confession for another day.   
“Impressive,” he regarded. He was quiet for a moment while they walked, only the sounds of their footsteps filling the corridor. “Does you lurking outside the common room mean that you’ve broken the news to Wealsey?”  
“I wasn’t lurking,” Harry protested. “And not yet.” Draco nodded, but Harry could tell he was trying not to look disappointed. “But I’m going to tell him tonight, after dinner.”  
This brought a smile to Draco’s face.   
“So why were you lurking then?” he pressed. Harry was about to answer when he thought he caught sight of a student’s robes in the corridor behind them. He dropped Draco’s hand and whirled around, but there was no one there. “Harry?” Draco asked.   
“Sorry, I thought I saw someone.” Harry turned back around and took Draco’s hand once again. “I just wanted to talk to you so I could… well, work up the courage to tell Ron.”  
“A Gryffindor needs help finding his courage?” Draco teased. Harry pretended to laugh, his hand going still in Draco’s.  
“Yeah… pretty pathetic, right?” he joked along half-heartedly, but Draco saw through his guise.   
“I’m only kidding, you know.” Draco’s voice became softer as his grip on Harry’s hand tightened reassuringly. “I’m happy to help you find your courage.”   
Both boys spared a quick glance around the hall, and when they spotted no one, Harry stood on his toes and pressed a quick kiss to Draco’s lips.   
“You’re really short, you know that?” Draco whispered against Harry’s mouth, smirking. Harry laughed and pushed Draco away playfully.  
“Yeah, well you put too much gel in your hair,” he shot back. Draco rolled his eyes, but he was still smiling.   
The sounds of footsteps approached the corridor, so Draco separated from Harry, starting back towards the Great Hall. Before he went fully out of sight, he whirled around and mouthed, Good luck, to Harry.   
The approaching student turned out to be Ron. Harry couldn’t help the small sound of surprise he made when he saw his friend.   
“Ron!” he exclaimed, and then quickly corrected his voice so he sounded more casual (he hoped). “What are you doing down here?”   
Ron’s face was hard and unusually cold. He frowned as he gave Harry a stony stare, his body language tight and rigid and not at all like Ron.   
“Dinner,” he answered curtly, almost like he was trying to use as few words as possible. “The real question is what are you doing down here?”  
“Same as you,” Harry covered, attempting a smile. “Dinner?” His last word came out sounding more like a question than a statement.   
“Right.” Ron rolled his eyes and pushed past Harry, shoving his shoulder slightly as he did so. Harry followed after him, unsure why his best friend was acting so cold.   
“Any more stories about Neville’s grandma while I was gone?” Harry tried to strike up a conversation, hoping that Ron would warm up if he got to talking.   
“No.” Ron gave Harry a scathing glance. “But then again, he could be hiding something.”  
“About his grandma?” Harry got the feeling Ron wasn’t talking about Neville anymore, and that made him nervous.   
Ron didn’t respond; he simply rolled his eyes and continued walking. Luckily, when they sat down at the Gryffindor table, Harry was happy to find that all of his other friends were acting completely normal.   
“Harry, where’d you run off to earlier?” Seamus asked, scooping some mashed potatoes onto his plate. “Had a hot date or something?” he teased, winking playfully. Harry flushed red and was about to answer when Ron snorted.  
“Er, well-”  
“Ignore him,” Dean said, chuckling and placing a hand on Seamus’ arm. “What you do with Parkinson is none of our business.” Ron scoffed again, and Harry gave him a curious look.   
“Right, Parkinson,” the redhead muttered under his breath.   
“Any run-ins with Malfoy lately?” Neville piped up, and Ron covered his mouth with his hand like he was trying not to laugh. Harry, meanwhile, tried to keep his expression neutral.   
“What do you mean?” he asked carefully.  
“Well, you did sort of steal his girlfriend,” Neville explained as though it was obvious. “And I heard about the fight you guys got into before the holidays.”  
Hermione glanced from Harry to Neville and cleared her throat.  
“So,” she said, changing the subject as she noted Harry’s discomfort. “The Winter Ball is next week,” she offered. Several people at the table perked up at the mention of the dance.   
“I heard the Weird Sisters are going to perform,” Ginny said excitedly. “I can’t wait!”  
“You’re taking Parkinson as your date, right?” Ron turned to Harry, his eyes piercing. Harry didn’t appreciate that the attention was back on him, but he answered anyways.   
“Who else would I bring?” he answered Ron’s question with a question, faking a smile.   
“Yeah,” Ron gave a short laugh, but it wasn’t his usual laugh. It was cold and mocking. “Who else.”  
The rest of dinner continued like that. Harry would try to participate in a normal conversation, and the next moment, Ron was interrogating him about Parkinson. It got to the point where Harry decided it would be best to spend the rest of his meal in silence. Unfortunately, this only led to Ron frequently giving Harry dirty looks.   
Once they returned to Gryffindor tower, the other boys went upstairs to the dorms first, and Harry caught Ron by the arm as he made his way upstairs.   
“What the hell Ron?” Harry’s anger finally bubbled to the surface. Ron pulled his arm away from Harry and they stood in the stairway, facing each other with angry expressions for a few moments. Luckily, all of the other students had already gone up for bed, so the two boys were alone.   
“I’m not stupid, you know,” Ron growled, shoving past Harry and going to sit on one of the couches in the common room. Harry followed, taking a seat opposite him.   
“I never said you were!” Harry protested. When Ron didn’t say anything more, Harry sighed in frustration. “Are you mad at me or something?”  
Ron glared at Harry.   
“I’ll take that as a yes.” Harry rolled his eyes. He loved Ron to death, but his friend was nearly impossible when he was upset. “What did I do?”  
“It’s what you didn’t do,” Ron corrected under his breath.   
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Harry questioned defensively.   
“It means that I’m supposed to be your best friend!” Ron exclaimed as he stood up, and Harry briefly wondered if the students upstairs could hear them.   
“You are my best friend!” Harry stood as well.   
“You’ve got a funny way of showing it,” Ron snarled. He started speaking quietly, his voice filled with hurt. “Best friends are supposed to tell each other everything, or at the very least they shouldn’t lie to each other.”  
Harry’s eyes started to widen as he realized a possibility for what Ron could be talking about. He cleared his throat awkwardly and tried to fight the embarrassed blush that he knew was creeping onto his face.   
“So you know about…” Harry’s voice came out shaky and weak, causing Ron’s expression to soften, just a little. Harry couldn’t quite finish his sentence on the off chance that Ron was upset about something else.  
“You and Malfoy?” Ron finished for him, his tone gentler than before. “Yeah, I know. I saw you two in the hall before dinner.” Harry must’ve looked confused, because Ron started to explain. “I assumed you snuck off to see Parkinson, and I thought it would be funny if I pranked you two. George gave me these bombs that make your…” Ron shook his head, sensing that he was getting off track. “Anyways, I borrowed your invisibility cloak, and then I spotted you with Malfoy and… well, yeah.”  
“Do you hate me?” Harry asked the question he dreaded hearing the answer to.   
“Hate you?” Ron chuckled, but his smile fell as he realized Harry was asking seriously. “Bloody hell, do you really think that little of me?”  
“It’s just… you hate him.”  
“Well yeah,” Ron said, rolling his eyes. “Look, I wouldn’t say I’m pleased that you’re dating arguably the worst Slytherin in all of Hogwarts, but I don’t hate you. I just don’t understand why you didn’t tell me.”  
“I didn’t think that you would accept it. That you would accept me.” Ron opened his mouth to protest, but Harry cut him off. “And not just you, but everyone. I wasn’t keeping it from you specifically Ron, I didn’t tell anyone.”  
“What is it going to take for you to understand that we love you no matter what?” Ron asked incredulously, a sad smile on his face.   
Harry tried to think of something to say, but words failed him. He wasn’t sure he could speak without breaking down. Fortunately, Ron saved him from responding by pulling him into a tight hug.   
“Thank you,” Harry mumbled into the hug, his words muffled by Ron’s shirt. They pulled apart, and Ron smiled briefly before a grimace took over his face.   
“Does this mean we have to start calling him Draco?” he asked disgustedly. Harry laughed.   
“That’d probably be a good start.”


	36. The Boy Who Lived, and the Boy Who Had No Choice

Chapter Thirty-Six

It was the evening of Saturday, January 16th, and Harry couldn’t calm his nerves. He was pacing around the room, hands shaking, palms sweating, and the fact that he had tried to flatten his hair seventeen times already and it still didn’t look right certainly didn’t help. Around him, the other boys in the dorm were chattering excitedly as they got ready.   
Neville was adjusting his dress robes, shifting the fabric to sit perfectly on his broad shoulders. Ron kept running his fingers through his hair, even though Harry couldn’t find a single strand that was out of place. Dean was fixing Seamus’ tie while glancing backwards every now and again to talk with the other two boys.   
As Harry passed by the mirror, he stopped and took a good look at himself. He was wearing shiny black dress shoes with a white button up tucked into black trousers. He’d thrown on his color shifting dress robes, which he’d managed to find a matching tie for. His outfit, in his opinion, was impeccable. At least, by Harry’s standards. The problem was solely his hair, which, despite the huge amounts of product he’d put into it, refused to stay tamed. Harry sat down at the edge of his bed and let out a groan of frustration.   
“You alright Harry?” Ron asked, glancing away from the mirror.   
“I’ve tried everything and it doesn’t work!” Harry complained, pulling a strand of his messy hair down and glaring at it. “I brushed it, gelled it, I even tried a hair charm that Hermione showed-”  
“You’re nervous,” Ron said, smiling. He gave his hair one last comb and then plopped down next to Harry on his bed.   
“I’m not nervous,” Harry protested weakly.   
“Yeah, you are,” Seamus chimed in from across the room. “It’s alright to be nervous. I mean, you are about to reveal your relationship with Malfoy to the whole school.”  
Over the past two weeks since Harry returned from winter break, a lot had changed. For one, all of Harry’s friends were now in the know. It’d taken a few days to have that awkward conversation with all those closest to him, but surprisingly, everyone had accepted it. Ginny hardly seemed surprised, and Harry had a sneaking suspicion that Luna may have mentioned it to her. The news took Neville by surprise, but after the initial shock wore off, he was supportive. Seamus and Dean were slightly taken aback; nonetheless, they wholeheartedly accepted it. The only person who was still slightly uncomfortable with the relationship was Ron, but Harry could tell he was making an effort. Harry had been meaning to tell Hagrid, and write to the Weasleys, but he figured both would figure it out by tomorrow morning. After all, Hagrid was chaperoning the Ball, so it’d be pretty hard to miss the fact that Draco was Harry’s date, and Harry presumed that his new relationship would be the front page of the Daily Prophet the next morning, so he didn’t need to worry about telling anyone at the Burrow.   
Even though the number of people who knew of his relationship with Draco was still small, it felt like a massive weight had been lifted from Harry’s shoulders. He had people he could count on, people who he knew would support him when others wouldn’t. Yet, this didn’t make him any less scared for tonight.   
“Call him Draco,” Harry corrected. For the last week, he’d been trying to get his friends to call Draco by his first name, but the only person who seemed to manage it was Luna, and she was already friends with Draco to begin with. “And thank you for reminding me,” he added sarcastically. Seamus gave an apologetic smile.   
“Hey,” Ron said, causing Harry to turn towards him. “You know it’s going to be alright, right? We’ve got your back.”  
“Thanks mate.” Ron nodded while Harry stood up and made his way over to the mirror. He gave his hair one last glance and sighed. “I give up.” Ron laughed.  
“Your hair looks fine,” he reassured Harry, giving him a pat on the shoulder. Then he turned to the other three boys. “Are you all ready to head down?” They all nodded.   
“As I’ll ever be,” Harry muttered.   
The five boys whisked out the door and into the Gryffindor common room, where Ron sat and waited for Hermione to come down. Seamus, Dean, Neville, and Harry waited with him.   
“Does my tie look alright to you?” Ron asked for the hundredth time since they’d gotten downstairs. His hands flew to his collar.   
“You look great,” Harry said, swatting Ron’s hands away from his tie. “You just need to relax and-” Harry lost his words when he caught sight of Hermione descending down the stairs.   
She looked stunning. She wore a deep violet gown, with trails of golden sparkle trekking down the skirt. Her skin literally glowed in the light, and Harry thought she might have dusted some sort of gold glitter across her collarbones. She radiated confidence and beauty in a way that he’d never seen before. But this was different from the Yule Ball in fourth year; this time she still looked like Hermione.   
She wore makeup, but it only emphasized the features of her face rather than disguising them. Her hair was gorgeous, but it wasn’t straightened or done up. She wore it down, as bushy and curly as ever, with two front pieces pulled back into twists. It was like she had finally realized that she could be beautiful, and be herself.   
“Wow.” Harry found that he quite literally didn’t know what else to say. He knew that if he was this stunned by Hermione’s appearance, Ron must be floored. Except when Harry glanced at Ron, he noted that Ron hadn’t actually noticed Hermione making her way down yet, as he was facing Harry. “Turn around,” Harry whispered to Ron.   
The red head spun around to see Hermione and his jaw dropped. Hermione watched his reaction and covered her mouth with her hand to hide her laughter.   
“I… you… and- the… you’re so-” Ron sputtered, his eyes so wide Harry was worried they might just pop out of their sockets.   
“You too,” Hermione responded, smiling. They looked at each other as if there was no one else in the room, like they lived in an entirely separate world. Harry grinned. To think that there had been a time when Hermione and Ron weren’t in love seemed laughable now.   
“I think what Ron meant to say,” Harry said, interrupting the moment (although to be fair, he had given them a full minute to just stare at each other). “Is that you look beautiful Hermione.”  
“Thank you,” Hermione beamed at Harry. “I think we just have to wait for Ginny to come down and then we can go to the Great Hall.”  
“No need to wait!” Ginny called from the top of the stairs. She raced down to the bottom step. “I’m here.”   
Ginny was breathtaking in her dress. The gown was constructed from a deep red fabric that hugged her curves and shimmered as it moved. It was off the shoulder and short sleeved, showing off her muscles. Strands of her flaming red head had been pulled from her crown braid to frame her face. She was regal, powerful.  
“I have to admit,” Ron said begrudgingly. “You don’t look half bad Gin.”  
“And those dress robes are certainly an improvement from the Yule Ball,” Ginny retorted. Harry rolled his eyes. The day that any of the Weasley siblings complimented one another genuinely was the day the world ended.   
“You look amazing Ginny,” Neville chimed in. Ginny gave him a smile. Then her eyes wandered to Harry and she gasped.   
“Harry! Your robes are incredible!” She walked over to him and touched the fabric. “It changes colors?” Harry nodded and switched his position so the light shifted. Sure enough, the red hue of the cloth transformed into an emerald green.   
“Are we ready to go?” Neville asked. His tone was light and polite, but it was obvious he was anxious to meet Hannah. Everyone nodded and they left Gryffindor tower.   
“Are you scared?” Ginny whispered to Harry as they navigated the corridors, Hermione and Ginny’s heels clicking against the floor. Harry would never understand how anyone could even stand in heels, much less walk in them.  
“A little.” Harry normally wouldn’t admit that, but this was Ginny he was talking to.   
“Don’t be,” she said, rather assertively. “We all love you no matter what, and if anyone decides to be a git about it, just let me know and I’ll teach them a lesson.”   
Harry started to laugh, but with one look at Ginny’s face or the way her hands were balled into fists, he knew she was deadly serious.   
“Thank you, but I don’t think that’ll be necessary,” Harry reassured her, hoping to avoid any violence. He would’ve said more, but they’d reached the entrance to the Great Hall, and Harry spotted something - someone - that rendered him speechless.   
Draco, unlike most of the other boys, wore a full suit instead of dress robes. This might’ve struck Harry as odd, considering a suit is usually considered a Muggle garment, but all rational thought had gone out the window when Harry looked at the blonde Slytherin before him. His blazer, trousers, and tie were all made from the same gold and silver shimmering fabric. The light bounced off of him softly, giving him an angelic glow.   
Draco turned and locked eyes with Harry, and suddenly Harry understood the way that Hermione and Ron looked at each other. Time had come to a stand still. The chatter that surrounded Harry had died down to a faint buzz, and Harry swore his heart skipped a beat. It was like walking a tightrope: the joy and exhilaration of being so high in the air, feeling like you could be capable of anything, but the fear of falling ever present. The thing was, Harry wasn’t sure he was so afraid of falling anymore.   
The moment ended as a student passed between them, and they approached each other. Harry thought he heard a Ravenclaw student whisper to her friend: “Oh Merlin, they’re going to kill each other!” and laughed.   
“Hi,” Harry tried to say once they’d met in the middle of the entrance way, but his voice came out raspy and weak. It was hard to talk when he was trying to focus on keeping his knees from buckling underneath him. He cleared his throat. “Hello.”  
“Hello,” Draco repeated, and Harry was relieved to see that Draco looked just as nervous as he felt. He also noticed Draco’s hair.   
“That’s new,” he commented, his voice still dry as he pointed towards Draco’s hair, which was swept back into a tousled wave.   
“You like it?” he mused, his confidence returning. Harry smiled.  
“I love it.” Harry reached up to touch the front strands, but Draco swatted his hand away.   
“No touching,” he protested, a smirk playing on his lips. “Not all of us have naturally wavy hair, you know.” Harry instinctively reached up to pull a few pieces of his own hair.   
“I tried to flatten it down but-” Harry let a piece go and it bounced back into its regular semi-curly pattern. “No luck.”  
“I like your hair like this,” Draco stated matter-of-factly. “It’s cute.” He ruffled Harry’s hair, and Harry heard a few surprised gasps around the room. Harry chose to ignore this; this moment belonged to Harry and Draco alone.   
“So you can mess with my hair, but I can’t mess with yours?”  
“Precisely.”   
“And I’m not cute!” Harry protested jokingly, crossing his arms over his chest.   
“You’re right,” Draco bowed his head, pretending to be deeply remorseful. “You are handsome, radiant, breath-takingly gorgeous, incredibly beautiful-” Harry rolled his eyes while Draco continued his over-dramatic speech. “-the most amazingly fantastic Boy-Who-Lived, the Chosen One, the o’Mighty-”  
“I hate you,” Harry said, chuckling as he cut Draco off. Draco smirked.   
“You love me.”   
Draco smiled like he expected Harry to laugh, but Harry didn’t. Instead, he let himself peer into Draco’s eyes, which reflected the light of the glittering chandeliers above. There were so many reasons why this, why he and Draco, shouldn’t work.   
They grew up in entirely different worlds: Draco being in Slytherin, Harry being in Gryffindor, Draco surrounded by pureblood elitists, Harry surrounded by all sorts of bloodlines, Draco knowing only darkness, and Harry stepping out into the light. They hated each other; of course it wasn’t true now, but years of animosity could never be entirely erased or forgotten. Yet, despite all of that…   
“I do.” The words slipped out of Harry’s mouth and Draco cocked his head in confusion. Harry took a deep breath, calming his nerves and smiled as he watched Draco’s face. “I love you.”  
In the back of Harry’s mind, he recognized the voices of his aunt and uncle screaming out to him. Disgusting. Wrong. Take it back. Harry squeezed his eyes shut for a moment and pushed those thoughts out of his head, reminding himself of his friends and their words of love and acceptance.   
“What?” Draco took a step backwards. His face had grown wary and his shoulders tightened as he watched Harry. Harry’s heart stopped. He hadn’t thought of what he would do if Draco didn’t feel the same way.   
“I love you,” Harry said again. Draco blinked rapidly and Harry sighed. “And… you don’t have to say it back. I understand if you don’t-”  
“You love me?” Draco questioned. At first Harry thought Draco was repeating his words, but as he looked into Draco’s eyes, he realized the question was genuine.   
“Of course I do.”   
“I…” Draco seemed at a loss for words. “I love you too.” They shared a smile before Draco grimaced. “Merlin, you’ve turned me sappy,” he grumbled and Harry laughed.   
“Well then, you sappy Slytherin,” Harry held out his arm. “Shall we dance?” Draco smirked and rolled his eyes.   
“We shall.” 

✾ ✾ ✾

The next morning, when Harry picked up the Daily Prophet, he prepared himself for the worst. The Ball had been incredible, but that didn’t mean that Harry hadn’t noticed the other students and even teachers gawking at him and Draco. Luckily, no one had been bold enough to actually approach either boy, but both Hermione and Ron insisted that they’d been fending off curious on-lookers the entire night. Harry knew that by morning, his and Draco’s relationship would be the talk of the wizarding world.   
When he flipped the page, he frowned. Sure enough, there was a giant picture of Draco and him dancing the night away, but the headline wasn’t what he expected. Maybe it was because of his previous negative experiences with the Daily Prophet, but Harry assumed the reporters would do their absolute worst when they discovered that the Saviour of the Wizarding World and a former death eater were currently in a relationship. They’d proved him wrong.   
The headline read:  
The Love Story No One Expected: The Boy Who Lived, and the Boy Who Had No Choice


End file.
